A Tour With Organized Crime
by last1stnding
Summary: Agent Peter Burke is abruptly transferred to temporary command of the Organized Crime division. Neal frets at being left behind, Elizabeth is worried about losing her husband to the demands of the job. And Peter himself is hardening and pulling away from his wife and his friends. But Neal won't let go.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes:_

 _This story, which takes place early second season, originally appeared in the fanzine The Art Of The Alliance. Edits were by C. Schlein. However, this story has been reworked since then. Any new mistakes are mine alone._

 _I want to thank everybody who has left favorites or reviews on my previous stories. I also thank those who have inquired if I will write more, most especially Jim Chou. I have been surprised and pleased that there is still so much interest. Hopefully this story will measure up._

The atmosphere was tense in the FBI building, White Collar division, that morning. Neal Caffrey, Agent Diana Barrigan and Agent Clinton Jones watched the upper level balcony office of Reese Hughes intently. Hughes was in there with Bancroft, his boss, and Special Agent Peter Burke, who ran the White Collar team.

"Have you done something lately, Caffrey?" Jones asked, watching the three men. They could see that no one was happy in the boss's office.

"He's Caffrey; he's always doing something," Diana replied tartly.

Neal shook his head. "Hey, you've been with me this entire week. I haven't had a chance to do anything."

Jones smiled. "That's the way we like it."

Neal tried to smile back but was too tense to make it sincere. He hated it when the high authority types stepped into his world. Reflexively, it made him worry. Used to be he would accept it as a new challenge. Mozzie's scornful voice in his head said, ' _Goin' soft.'_

The meeting broke up. Hughes sat down at his desk while Peter and Bancroft went into Peter's office. Burke picked up his jacket and put it on. Then the two men came down the short flight of stairs to where the group waited.

"Agent Hughes has an announcement to make," Bancroft said abruptly, ignoring the questioning looks from everyone on the lower floor. "He will explain everything."

Neal searched his friend's face as Peter followed Bancroft. Peter looked a bit angry but resigned. "Don't cause any trouble, Neal," he said softly, walking away.

Neal was anything but reassured by that cryptic statement but reluctantly followed the others up the stairs.

Reese Hughes, a man who brooked no nonsense from anyone, sat at his desk with a sour look on his face. "All right, listen up everyone. I'll make a general announcement to the others shortly but this affects you three the most. Agent Ruiz from Organized Crime is going to be tied up for several months testifying at the trial of Junior Gianelli in Miami. The defense team lawyers have delaying tactics down to an art. The Bureau does not want Organized Crime to be without a lead agent for that long, so they are temporarily transferring Agent Burke to head Organized Crime." Hughes sighed when he saw Neal Caffrey's hand shoot up. "Caffrey, put your hand down. It's for ninety days, in answer to your unspoken question. Agent Barrigan, you will take over White Collar division for that time. Agent Jones, I know you are senior and you ran the team well in Agent Burke's absence before, but I want Agent Barrigan to get the experience in handling a team. You will advise her on all matters and you, Agent Barrigan, will seek his counsel."

Both agents nodded; to his credit, Jones did not seem outwardly disappointed.

"We will all be responsible for Caffrey, understood?"

Diana nodded. "Understood, sir."

"Yes, sir," Jones replied.

"Caffrey, I want no foolishness out of you. No slip ups, no going off book, no anything."

Neal sat, shock and dismay on his face. "Yes, sir." He was so stunned he forgot to mask his true emotions, a habit that was second nature to him.

Seeing Neal's expression mirrored by Diana and Jones, Hughes subsided a bit. He knew the higher ups were dumping a lot on these three. "Look, people, I know this is unexpected. And frankly, unwanted. The Bureau has been trying to get Agent Burke to take over Organized Crime for some time now; he's always refused. But this time he cannot say no and we're just going to have to suck it up until he returns. I have faith in our people here and in you, Agent Barrigan. Agent Jones, I know you will do everything in your power to assist Agent Barrigan. We will need your input as well. We will keep up the high recovery rate of this unit and we will do it well. We don't want Agent Burke coming back to chaos in his own team. Now we're going to go out there and tell the rest of the staff and we're going to put a good face on it. Am I clear?"

Amid the yes sirs, Hughes, followed by Diana and Jones, went out to talk to the rest of the team. Neal remained in the background, silent.

 _WC WC WC_

Neal Caffrey lingered on in the office long after everyone else had left for the day. He was rewarded however, when Peter Burke stepped off the elevator.

"Hey!" Neal said, jumping up when the agent stepped through the glass doors.

Peter looked a bit exasperated and amused. "Why, may I ask, are you still here?"

"Just wanted to do my part for the team," Neal said jauntily. "Look," he indicated the case folders on his desk. "All mortgage fraud. And I didn't even complain."

Peter smiled as he kept on walking, going up the steps to his office. Going inside, he picked up some things from his desk and remarked, "Good. I'm happy for Diana; listening to you whine is an irritating experience."

Neal, who had naturally followed the agent in, watched with trepidation as his partner packed up some more papers. "Hey, this is only for ninety days, right?"

Peter suddenly sat down wearily. "Yeah. Ninety days."

Instantly wary, Neal asked, "What's wrong? They can't make you stay more than that, right?"

"Neal, if they force the issue, they can do pretty much whatever they want," Peter admitted. He looked defeated. "God, I hate to tell El about this."

"Look, Hughes said it was only for ninety days," Neal maintained stoutly. "Any more than that isn't fair."

Peter gave him a look that bordered on incredulous. "If Neal Caffrey says it isn't fair, that should hold back the tide," he said archly.

"Well, if it goes more than that, I don't know if Hughes or Diana or Jones could take me for longer," Neal admitted; only halfheartedly kidding when he thought of Diana.

Peter favored him an intense look. "Neal, whatever you do, don't make trouble. Don't push Diana; she's a great agent but she's going to have her hands full. Don't make her life harder."

Neal pouted. "Everybody thinks I'm going to make trouble."

Peter looked a bit aggravated. "Now, why would they think that?"

"No idea." Neal held out his hands to take some of the stuff from Peter. "I'll be counting the days," he said softly.

Giving the young conman a sideways look, Peter replied, "Just don't make hash marks on the wall, okay?"

Neal smiled but it was bittersweet. He had made hash marks on the wall of his jail cell. Surprising how similar this felt. "No, I won't. I really don't like counting days."

 _WC WC WC_

"Now, it's just for ninety days, right?" Elizabeth Burke said, as she settled on the couch next to her husband, who was playing tug of war with their Labrador.

"Everybody keeps asking that," Peter said in mock irritation as he suddenly let go, and Satchmo pranced away in triumph with his rawhide.

"Well, what if Ruiz should finish with the case earlier than ninety days, you can come back to White Collar, right?" El asked, determined not to lose the thread of the conversation.

"Maybe, but I doubt it," Peter admitted. Satch was back and Peter concentrated on the dog.

"But why?" Elizabeth had a sinking feeling about this whole business but wanted to hear the bad news straight out.

Her husband, however, was determined to be evasive. "Too much paperwork," he said, wrestling Satch for the rawhide.

"Are they trying to make you take over Organized Crime permanently?" El asked bluntly.

Peter let Satch win again and this time the dog went to his pillow to chew his treasure. "Maybe. I really don't know. Ruiz has had some trouble with his team and they have a low conviction rate. They might look to shake something up a bit."

Elizabeth flared with anger. "Well, they can look to their own problems! It's ridiculous of them to expect you to do it!"

Peter gave her a small smile. "You're beautiful when you're angry."

"You don't really believe that, otherwise you wouldn't be in terror every time you think I am angry!" El replied pointedly.

"You're right," Peter agreed instantly. He placed his hands on either side of his wife's face. "Look, honey, I know this isn't going to be fun, but let's just get through it, all right? You know I always need you, but I'm really going to need you for this. Please?"

El softened as she looked at her husband. She leaned forward to kiss him. "You know I'll be here for you, no matter what." She frowned. "But I'll be counting the days."

Peter sighed. "That's exactly what Neal said."

"Speaking of," El worried, "what's going to happen to Neal?"

"Hughes and Diana are going to be responsible for him. I just hope he remembers that and doesn't do anything stupid."

El settled against her husband and smiled. "He won't. It's not as much fun as bedeviling you."

"Oh, thanks," Peter said in a weary voice.

 _WC WC WC_

It was hard to remember that Peter Burke was just four floors above them, Neal Caffrey thought with sense of wonderment. It was as though he had been taken from them, never to be seen again. Neal felt the days grow longer and clock watching became his most important duty of the day.

It was not as if they weren't busy. The White Collar division rolled on with Diana doing an excellent job in Peter's stead. But the cases they worked on weren't exciting. Everybody missed Peter; his enthusiasm could make a dull case palatable and not having his energy around made the place seem duller, more sedate. They were efficient but not flamboyant, Neal decided. The swagger was gone. Also, it was so very quiet now.

For himself, he missed Peter dreadfully, although it appalled him to admit it. There wasn't anyone around to instantly pick up on where he was going with a case nor anyone who could think their way around the roadblocks Neal was unable to navigate – at least right away. Diana came the closest, but Neal missed batting around theories with Peter, both of them making those leaps of logic and intuition simultaneously. Although Diana was very intelligent, she tended to think more inside the FBI box than Peter did. If the cases were dull, Neal could always amuse himself with pushing Peter's buttons and then guarding himself against a return attack when Peter had had enough.

Now however, it was just work. He was reminded again why he eschewed labor in the first place.

Neal, having no point of reference in this area, made the mistake of mentioning it to Jones and the agent wasted no time in clearing the air. "This is what police work is, Neal. And we're lucky we're in here, in White Collar crime. Just think of what the Violent Crime people go through.

Neal stared him in the eye. "Or Organized Crime too?"

Jones looked uncomfortable _._ "Yeah."

After this disquieting conversation, Neal, who had been the model of self-restraint, or so he thought, made his first unauthorized trip upstairs. It had been lunchtime and he figured he would have a better chance of missing Ruiz's pets. Ruiz had made no secret of his animosity for Caffrey during their one case together and Neal had no wish to run into any of the agent's friends.

He was disappointed however, to find the offices empty except for one harried young woman who was busily working at the computer. Her expression when she glanced up and found Neal standing there, was anything but friendly.

"What do you want?" She demanded.

Neal put on his best charming smile. "I'm here to see Agent Burke."

If anything, the woman's defenses went up even more. "Why? What do you want with him?" She pushed her eyeglasses further up her nose and stared coldly.

Neal held up his hands. "Whoa! I'm not the enemy. I work here. I work in White Collar with Agent Burke. I just wanted to drop in on him and see if he would like to do lunch, that's all."

"Oh." The woman blew air from her cheeks and visibly deflated. "Agent Burke warned me you might be around. You must be Neal Caffrey."

"Er, yes." Neal's smile faltered a bit. "What do you mean, he warned you?"

The young woman smiled. "He said you were a good looking charmer."

"Oh." Neal puffed up a little. "Was he right?"

Smiling, the lady offered her hand. "Yes, he was right. I'm Ashley Leewood. I'm a clerk up here."

Neal lingered over the hand, smiling beautifully. "Well, Ashley Leewood, I am pleased to meet you. Maybe you and I should do lunch instead?"

Ashley's smiled faltered. "No, I can't. I've got too much to do."

The young woman seemed to almost quiver in fear. Neal touched her arm. "Look, relax, it's all right. I mean, Peter yells a lot but it's usually like a summer storm, here and gone. He doesn't eat clerks, I assure you."

"Oh, it's not him!" Ashley replied vehemently. "Agent Burke is the best thing that's happened up here in a while."

Understanding dawned in Neal's eyes. "When I came in, you were protecting him, weren't you?"

Ashley looked at the ceiling, then the floor and finally at Neal. "Look, there are a couple of agents up here that aren't very nice. There's a couple more that go along with them, just because it's easier. They don't like Agent Burke and they've already made things difficult for him. I just didn't want another problem thrown his way."

Neal was calm on the outside but turmoil roiled his stomach at her words. "How's Agent Burke doing?"

Ashley smiled once more. "Oh, he's flown right in their faces. He chewed out Agent Barnes the other day, right in front of everybody! It was so wonderful," she added, warmth coloring her cheeks as she tucked her mussed hair behind her ear on one side.

"Agent Barnes is -?"

"Is one of the bad ones," Ashley finished. "But I'm afraid Agent Burke isn't here. He had a meeting to go to-" She suddenly blanched. "You've got to go," she muttered

Neal turned to find the doors opening behind him, and two men in business suits walked in. "Say, aren't you Caffrey?" one asked, with a sneer.

The other man stopped too. He had short graying hair and an off the rack suit with a loud shirt and tie. "Well, well, if it isn't Burke's pet con. Come to check up on your keeper?"

Neal kept smiling, although there was little warmth in it. "I don't believe I know you guys."

"That's right; you don't," the first man, with a snazzy haircut and a tailor made suit, laughed and went into the room. He sat down on top of a desk and made a show of looking at a file folder.

The second man lingered. "I'm Agent Alan Barnes," he said roughly. "Your handler isn't here and I don't see a reason for you to stay."

Neal nodded his head in agreement. "Me either. Conversational skills are very limited up here."

As Neal went out the door, he could hear the first man yelling at Ashley. "Leewood! Where's that research you promised me thirty minutes ago? You spend all your time talking to the pretty boy out there?"

Neal pushed the button on the elevator, keenly aware of Alan Barnes watching his every move. "You might want to try a different tie with that shirt. Those shades of purple and bright red are just nauseous together. Nor are they regulation bureau attire." With a jaunty wave, Neal stepped on the elevator.

 _WC WC WC_

"Are they shipping you back to prison, post haste?" Mozzie asked with calculated indifference, sitting at Neal's table that night.

Neal sighed as he refilled his wine glass. "No, I hate to disappoint your continued expectation of the worst, but for now, I'm working with Diana. I'm staying right where I'm at."

Mozzie studied him over his own wine glass. "A cause for celebration, surely?"

"Well, yes, as far as it goes. But I'm worried about Peter."

Mozzie scoffed. "The Suit is still working in the building with other suits; they're all on the same side. What's the problem?"

Neal explained the bad vibes he'd had while visiting Organized Crime, concluding with, "I'm not sure how trustworthy some of these guys are."

"Well, of course, they're not trustworthy!" Mozzie exploded. "They're servants of the government and pawns of power. They eat their own!"

"Mozzie, do you really believe that?" Neal asked quietly.

"Yes!" Mozzie was adamant. He took a defiant sip of wine, trying to ignore Neal's eyes.

"Well?" He asked uneasily.

Neal stared. "Well what?"

Mozzie returned the look. "Why do you care? About Peter, I mean? He holds the leash; the very symbol of your incarceration? Yet I sense some sort of concern, worry even, about him. With the Suit out of the picture, your escape to freedom just became a lot easier."

It was Neal's turn to look uneasy. Holding his glass aloft, he stared at the vintage wine as if looking for answers. _Moz is right. This might be the time. After he located Kate's killer and exacted payment, he was sure he could find other goals in his life. Always had before. Always another pot of gold at the end of another fantasy rainbow._

"I really don't like these long silences," Moz complained. "Should I be looking into ways to 'cut the cord', as they say?"

"No." The word came out almost before Neal realized he had spoken aloud. He attempted to regroup. "Not right now. This is just temporary; I'll wait until Peter is almost done with his assignment. You can start planning however."

"Well, if you escaped now, it wouldn't go against Peter's record," Moz expounded. "If that makes you feel any better."

 _But it would go against Diana's,_ Neal thought. It might be a death blow to her career.

 _Caring about other people made his life so much more difficult._ "For now, let's see what we can do about Peter's problems." He equivocated.

Moz looked mutinous. " _Mon frère,_ I think psychologists would be fascinated by you. When he noticed Neal's icy glare, he relented. "All right, all right. I'll make some inquiries. I don't know what we can realistically do about it though."

Neal sighed. "I don't either."

 _WC WC WC_

The weekend came and went without any word from Peter or Elizabeth, much to Neal's dismay. But he couldn't bring himself to crash their weekend, so he waited until Monday morning to try again. He came into work very early and was surprised to see Peter's Taurus already parked in its usual spot. Clutching two cups of espresso, Neal made his way up to the Organized Crime floor.

He literally bumped into Peter when stepping off the elevator. "Peter!" Neal said with delight. His happiness faded a bit when he saw Peter was dressed to leave with his trench coat on. He already looked tired. "You're leaving?"

Peter looked equal parts resigned and annoyed. "Neal, what are you doing here?"

With a bright smile, Neal held up the espresso. "Brought you something."

The agent relented with a small smile. Taking the cup, he said simply, "Thank you."

Behind him, Agent Barnes came up with two other men. "You coming, Agent Burke?" Barnes asked in an insolent voice.

Peter rounded on him. "Yeah, Barnes, I'll be right there, if you can find your way to the car by yourself!"

Barnes held up his hands. "Okay, sorry, chief. Just checkin' the time. It wouldn't do to be late, you know." Barnes strolled off with the other men, hands in his pockets, reeking of attitude.

Peter glared until Barnes and the other men got on the elevator and left.

"Wow," Neal said softly. "I thought we were all FBI here. What happened?"

Anger simmering, Peter took a sip of his espresso. "This unit has problems, Neal. They're not getting their jobs done because of it."

"What kind of problems?" the younger man asked.

Sighing, Peter took another swallow of espresso before answering. _God knew Neal wouldn't go away until he knew the story._ "Egos, petty feuds, turf battles, you name it. It's like refereeing a little league game with out of control parents," he concluded bitterly.

"Are you all right?" Neal asked with concern, studying his friend.

"I will be," Peter answered with his customary determination. "But Neal, you better not come up here again."

Neal shrugged. "Hey, I know they don't like me. But name calling doesn't bother me."

"It does bother **me** ," Peter admitted. "I don't want you mixing with these guys. To be blunt, you're a distraction I can't afford." He held up the cup. "Thanks for the espresso."

Neal joined him in the elevator but exited on the White Collar floor. He wanted to say something but he could actually feel Peter pulling away from him, physically and mentally. The agent's mind was on whatever was happening with Organized Crime that day and Neal Caffrey had already passed from his thoughts. Neal left the elevator with a small wave that Peter barely acknowledged. The doors closed and Peter went on without him. Sitting at his desk, Neal brooded until Diana and Jones arrived and then it was back to the case folders.


	2. Chapter 2

Neal, you did a great job," Diana said warmly. "We nailed that guy who was buying up the home mortgages from the elderly, thanks to you."

Neal shrugged, and tried futilely to act modest. "It was easy. Once he had me pegged as the greedy nephew, there was no problem."

Diana grinned. "Well, you still did well. I also want to thank you for working with me this past month. I really appreciate your effort."

Smiling though a bit strained, Neal remarked, "It's just not as fun to bait you as it is Peter."

A shadow crossed Diana's face as she turned back to her computer screen. She and Neal were in Peter's office, where Diana sometimes spent her time. She steadfastly refused to spend all of her time here though.

Neal noticed her expression. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Diana resumed her work. "Haven't you got something to do?"

One of Neal Caffrey's chief strengths as a conman was the ability to pick up on emotions of others. He could see and feel what people thought they had hidden. "What have you heard? Otherwise I'm going right up those stairs and talk to Peter."

Diana sighed. "Look, everyone knows Organized Crime has had problems for a while now. Agent Ruiz is a good investigator but not a good administrator. I've only heard that Peter is shaking things up, that's all. And frankly, they need it up there."

She gave Neal a sidelong look. "How many days has it been?"

"Thirty two," Neal said promptly. "But who's counting?"

"Yeah," Diana agreed soberly, her expression wistful. "Who's counting?"

 _WC WC WC_

"So," Peter Burke leaned back in his office chair, his relaxed posture belying the fact that he was very angry. "What happened this time?"

Agents Alan Barnes, Barry Watters and Luis Castillo all stood around the desk, trying to be efficient and professional. After all, they had done nothing wrong. So they thought.

"Somehow Brentamo's driver made the tail. He lost us and disappeared shortly after they left the restaurant." Barry Watters made it sound like one of those things that just happen. Barnes remained silent but defiant. Only Castillo, the youngest agent in the room, started to object and then suddenly subsided when Burke glowered.

"So, who got careless?" Peter asked tightly.

Both Barnes and Watters turned to Castillo, who looked resentful. "I guess I did. I was driving," Castillo said harshly.

Peter still sat, like a coiled snake ready to strike out. "Did you get too close?"

"Way too close," Watters scoffed.

Turning to Barnes, Peter asked simply, "And what were you doing?"

Agent Barnes blinked. "Well, I was riding along, naturally."

Peter jumped out of his chair and pointed a finger in Barnes' face. "You are the most experienced agent here in this division. And when Agent Castillo got too close you simply sat there and fiddled with the car radio?"

"Well, no." Barnes was flustered, a rare moment in time. "I mean, I told the kid to back off but he wouldn't listen."

"That's not true, dammit!" Castillo shot back heatedly.

Peter blew the air out of his cheeks in disgust. He turned on Watters.

"And you were doing what?"

Watters blanched. "Well, I was looking around; checking to make sure the Brentamos hadn't put somebody on us. It's been known to happen, you know."

Giving the man a scornful look, Peter waved his hand in dismissal. "Yeah, right; you were window shopping. We blow eighty man hours this week alone on a surveillance that gets us nothing but Joey Brentamo laughing his head off as he drives off into the night." Consumed by fury, Peter stalked around the desk, causing all the agents to back off a bit. "Raw recruits from Quantico would have done better than you three did! Barnes, I don't know how you ever got to this level, if you can't even do routine surveillance!" Peter noticed Barnes flushing an ugly level of red, but didn't care. "We're going to have to let Joey boy go for a few days, until he hopefully gets used to not seeing us in the rear view mirror. Then, we'll try it again and do it right next time. Now get out of here!"

Peter leaned against his desk as he watched Barnes and Watters file out, faces filled with hostility. As the youngest agent headed for the door however, Burke said, "Castillo?"

Luis Castillo reminded him a lot of Lauren Cruz. He had that same youthful, fiery attitude, only Castillo was far more intimidated than Lauren would ever be. The young man paused, his expression worried and wary.

"Next time you and I will do the surveillance. And there won't be any screw-ups, right?"

Castillo's face looked like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "Yes, sir, Agent Burke. You can count on that!"

Peter shook his head ruefully as Castillo bounded out the door and down the stairs. _Neal would never be that excited over a stakeout._ Shaking his head at the suddenly poignant memory of his whining consultant on stakeout duty, Peter sat down at his desk, eying the huge stack of paperwork that awaited him. _God, he missed them all. Diana would have helped with this. Jones would have handled the stakeout with no problems. And Neal would have rocked the boat several times before saving the day with some outlandish scheme._ But most of all, Peter missed hearing their voices, just talking and joking with them and then going forth to bust another lawbreaker in the course of duty in the FBI White Collar division.

Peter hated to admit it, but he really, really missed Neal. This was almost a return to his life before Neal had inserted himself into it on a daily basis. _Neal with his boyish enthusiasm, Neal with his schemes, Neal with his sulks, Neal with his goofy hat and his connoisseur wines._ Peter had forgotten how in control of his own life he had been back in those days before his CI had entered to liven things up.

He rubbed his gritty eyes. He had to stop this. Had to stop thinking about his team. Time to get the job done here and done right. Ruiz was a pain in the neck and somebody Peter would never consider a friend, but he was not about to turn Organized Crime back to Ruiz in a chaotic mess, although that was the way he had found it. Peter was going to let the cocky Ruiz know he needed to get his own house in order if he ever wanted to get this unit to run efficiently. Glancing over, he saw his coffee cup was empty. Peter started to get up but then realized everybody else had gone home and Ashley had probably forgotten to make another pot, as she seemed to live in fear of Barnes and Watters.

He sighed and angrily started reading and signing papers.

 _WC WC WC_

Elizabeth Burke was alone as she was most evenings now. When a knock sounded on the door, she actually jumped. Going to the door and opening it, she was delighted to see Neal Caffrey standing there.

"Neal! This is a pleasant surprise!"

Buoyed by the welcoming smile on Elizabeth's face, Neal came on inside. "Long time, no see."

"Very long. Too long. Come on in. But I'm afraid Peter isn't home yet."

"Really? Those guys in Organized Crime must keep long hours," Neal remarked carefully. He followed the brunette woman into the dining room where she poured some wine in a long stemmed glass.

Elizabeth's face turned grim. "You've no idea." She wordlessly offered Neal the glass, which he accepted. "Have you seen Peter lately?" The question was asked quietly, but her brilliant eyes reflected her intensity. She moved into the living room and sat on the couch.

Neal sat down beside her. "Er, no. He told me to stay away."

Elizabeth smiled in understanding. "Don't take it personally. He's told me the same thing, although not in so many words."

Neal was aghast. "Peter tells you everything!"

"Not in this," Elizabeth said as she studied her untasted wine. "He doesn't talk much when he gets home."

"It's really getting to him, isn't it?" Neal fretted. "We never see him at White Collar anymore."

"I don't see him much either." Hearing a sharp bark, Elizabeth jumped up. "Oh, I've forgotten Satchmo." She went to the back door and let the dog in. Satch was clearly delighted to see Neal, who promptly fished out a dog treat from his pocket. "You're spoiling him," Elizabeth laughed as she returned to her seat on the couch.

Neal fondly rubbed the big dog's head. "I've missed him too."

They both heard a car door outside and moments later, the front door opened and an exhausted Peter Burke stumbled in. Elizabeth got up immediately but not before a shadow of anger crossed her husband's face. "Well, Neal. I didn't expect to find you here," Peter said flatly.

Neal became uneasy; something in Peter's tone rattled his usually unflappable self-confidence. "I just dropped in for a bit," he said somewhat defensively.

"Well, that's nice. We're always a gathering point for strays around here," Peter snapped.

"Honey, you know that's not fair," Elizabeth soothed. "I've held dinner for you; let me get you something to drink and you kick off your shoes and relax for a bit."

Neal watched in disbelief as Peter shrugged off his wife's hands and headed for the stairs. "I'm not hungry. I had something earlier. I'll let you and Neal talk over the good times. I'm going to bed."

Neal stood up and El watched in sadness as her husband disappeared up the stairs. "Neal, I think you'd better go."

"Yeah, me too. Thanks for the wine, Elizabeth. I'll see you some other time."

Neal nearly ran out the door and headed into the night.

That night he didn't sleep, wondering what his unlikely friend was becoming. Caffrey didn't know that no one slept at the Burke household either. El was wondering how in the world she was to cope with another fifty odd days of this. Next to her, Peter was kicking himself for being a jerk but he seemed powerless to stop any of it these days. The bitterness of the job overwhelmed him.

 _WC WC WC_

"Sounds like the Suit is getting a taste of his own," Mozzie said while lying on Neal's couch. "Crushed under the governmental bureaucracy like the rest of us."

Neal, who was seated in a nearby chair, shook his head. "For a moment there, he was really scary, Moz. I thought he might take a swing at me."

"Well, you sitting on the couch with Mrs. Suit making yourself at home probably didn't help the situation," Mozzie replied.

Neal gave his friend an exasperated look. "When you put it that way, I feel like a wife stealer."

Mozzie gave him a look. Seeing Neal's sudden expression of anger, Mozzie quickly waved his hands in dismissal. "All right, all right. But I did do some checking, very quietly. The Brentamo family is not pleased with the FBI right now. The investigation started with Ruiz but it's only begun to make headway since the Suit took over. Guys are nervous. And did you know that Sammy Gamitz is Ruiz's CI?" Mozzie scoffed. "It's supposedly a secret. Sammy was helping the investigation but it sounds like things only started moving when the Feds took Sammy out of the loop." Mozzie paused. "I would venture a guess that means the Suit caught on to Sammy."

Neal frowned; not liking the sound of any of this. "Sammy Gamitz would sell out his grandmother for pocket change."

Mozzie nodded. "Exactly, my friend."

"Are you sure Peter knows about Sammy?" Neal asked.

As usual, Mozzie's short temper flared. "Well, I don't sit in on FBI meetings although Hughes has begged me a time or two!"

Neal gave him a look. "And your schedule was much too busy, because you're lying around here, watching my TV and drinking my wine?"

Smiling beatifically, Mozzie replied, "Of course."

 _WC WC WC_

Diana Berrigan rubbed her tired eyes. It was late at night and she was the last one left at the White Collar division. The paperwork was endless and she knew there was no sense in going home until she finished. These past eight weeks had been dreadful.

It wasn't the work itself that bothered her. Heaven knew she'd done part of the admin side of the job for Peter Burke for quite some time, enough for them to joke about how many times she'd forged his signature. But doing both jobs, his and hers, was getting her down. She wondered vaguely if she could draft Jones into doing some of the paperwork. However, Clinton was showing such grace over her handling the team instead of him, she was loath to push it.

A noise outside in the bullpen alerted her to the fact that someone was out there. "Who's there?"

Steps came up the stairs and Peter Burke came into the light of his office. "You're working late," he said with a slight smile.

Diana jumped up and came around the desk and gave him a hug. "So you are."

Peter was a bit taken aback; normally the icy cool Diana did not indulge in physical displays of affection. "I just came in to get something out of my desk and saw your light on."

" **Your** light on," Diana reproved. "This is still your office."

Peter sat down in the chair opposite the desk. "Sometimes it seems like a long time ago."

Diana studied her boss, dismayed to see how weary and worn Peter looked. "How are things upstairs?"

Peter shrugged. "It's a different team. Not mine. They do things differently."

"Jones heard they blew another stake out yesterday," Diana offered.

Peter jumped up, instantly angry. "We had a chance to see where that courier was going; I'd bet a month's paycheck the guy was headed straight to Joey Brentamo. Instead I've got two hotshot agents who want to make a big score, so we end up with a know nothing courier and no leads to where the guy was going. A major foul up from the start."

Diana watched in sympathy as Peter sat back down again, the short burst of energy gone as quickly as it came, it seemed. "Still, I hear you're making progress up there. Agent Castillo thinks you're wonderful; he told everybody in the coffee shop how you chewed out Agent Watters a while back. You're now his hero."

Peter scowled. "Great. That should help morale." He glanced around the office, frowning as he spotted the desk calendar with slash marks through the days. Some days were adorned with stars and flowers, some simply crossed through. "What's this?"

Diana smiled. "Guess who?"

Peter groaned. "Neal, naturally."

"He misses you, Boss. We all do. We're counting the days here."

"I hate to admit it, but I've lost count. How many have I been away?"

"This closes Day Sixty One."

Peter slouched down in the chair. "Too long." He looked around the office and then to Diana. "How's it going here?"

"We're all right, Boss. We nailed an investment counselor selling phony bonds. Neal pretended to be a trust fund baby and Jones a swarmy lawyer."

Peter smiled. "Jones is being corrupted too?"

Diana grinned. "Yeah. He says he likes it. Shallow man." They laughed and she continued. "Anyway, we got him down on tape. I was in the van and everything went smoothly."

"You're a good team," Peter said, sounding melancholy.

" **We** **are** a good team. But we would like our boss back." Diana looked at the tired man before her. "What did you stop by for? Not that I'm not happy to see you but-"she left unfinished the thought that Peter looked like he needed to be home and resting.

"Oh yeah, I need that file we kept on Richard Deakins. I think ol Rickey boy's surfaced again. Seems to be cozy with the Russian mob."

Diana's interest perked up. "Oh really. How so?"

As Peter explained the case, he began to open up a bit more and soon Diana was commiserating on the losses and celebrating the wins. It was like old times for a short while.

 _WC WC WC_

It was a rather boring Sunday afternoon when the phone rang at Neal Caffrey's loft apartment. The rest of the world was watching baseball but Neal didn't care to and Mozzie was off doing some sort of mysterious Mozzie thing. Neal had several books spread in front of him but none of them held his interest.

Glancing at the caller ID, Neal was both pleased and apprehensive when it came up Peter Burke. Nevertheless he answered immediately. "Hello?"

"Hi, Neal, it's Elizabeth. How about joining us for dinner tonight?"

Neal swallowed. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Yes, Neal, it is." Elizabeth lowered her voice. "This is a good day; come on over while it stays a good day."

Neal brightened. "I'll be right there."

 _WC WC WC_

Neal knocked on the door and was met by Peter, with a beer in his hand and his dog at his heels. "Come on in, Neal."

"Hey, my man." Neal was unusually tentative when he entered but Peter seemed not to notice.

"Sit down, take it easy. Want a beer?"

"Uh, no, I'm good. I didn't know what we were having so I bought both red and white," he said, while holding out two bottles of wine.

"The white will be fine," Elizabeth replied, coming out of the kitchen with a dish she sat on the table. "Dinner will be in just a few minutes. Neal, you want to open your wine?" Neal nodded yes and took the offered corkscrew. "Babe, you all right?" El threw over her shoulder, concern on her face but only briefly.

Peter had settled into the chair to watch, naturally, the Yankees game. "I'm fine," he replied rather indistinctly.

Seeing his partner absorbed in the game, Neal followed Elizabeth into the kitchen. "Peter seems pretty, well, relaxed today."

El gave a short chuckle. "He should; that's his fifth beer. But I'm not complaining; at least he's been talking to me today. That's better than it has been. Go on out and sit with him. He won't bite – at least not right now."

Neal made his way out the door and timing his passage in front of the TV, waited until a new batter was on his way up before crossing. "How's the game?" he asked weakly, cursing himself for the lame question.

Peter Burke had a disconcerting habit of seeming to be very drunk one moment and startlingly sober the next. He gave Neal a sharp glance. "Do you really care?"

Neal flushed. "No."

Peter smiled. "Yankees are ahead by three. Since you asked."

"That's good. That's really nice." Neal fidgeted but even Satchmo was occupied in the kitchen.

Peter sighed and sat down his beer. "Neal, I am sorry about the last time you were here. I was in a really bad mood and I took it out on all the wrong people."

Neal was stunned. "Peter, are you apologizing? To me?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." Peter reached down and took a fortifying swallow of his beer. "But don't get used to it," he added sternly.

Neal shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. "Oh no, I'd never get used to it. Never."

They spent the rest of the evening laughing and talking, Elizabeth regaling the men with some of her horror stories about the events she'd planned. As the evening wore on, however, both she and Neal noticed Peter gradually withdraw from the conversation and eventually shut down altogether. He wasn't listening to what they were saying and his expression grew morose.

Neal quietly excused himself after thanking Elizabeth for the dinner. As he called out good night to Peter, he saw his friend was already heading up the stairs.

Elizabeth sighed. "That's what I get every night. He's lying right beside me, but it's like he's a million miles away in some world he won't let me in."

"I don't think he's letting anyone in, Elizabeth. It's a world he's protecting us from."

The dark haired woman sighed. "I know. But who will protect him?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for the favorites, alerts and most especially, the reviews. They are all appreciated._

"Ashley!" Neal said, acting pleasantly surprised when he spotted the young woman enter the coffee shop.

Ashley jumped when she heard her name as if she had been caught casing the shop for a future robbery. "Oh, hello, Mr. Caffrey," she mumbled.

"Neal," the con man insisted with a wide smile. He had been hoping to spot Peter but it seemed Ashley was as close as he would get right now. "How's it going?"

The woman was distraught. "Oh, it's terrible, Mr. Caff – Neal. Everybody's yelling at each other and then I lost the files that Agent Burke wanted right away."

"And Peter, er, Agent Burke, yelled at you," Neal filled in gently.

"Well, he had told Agent Castillo to make sure those files got back to his desk. But Agent Castillo needed to go out, so he left them with me. I went over to get some files that Agent Zahn needed and when I got back, the original files were gone!"

Neal cleared his throat. "The files you weren't supposed to lose, right?" Mentally, he tried to straighten out the saga of the many files.

"That's right." Ashley wiped her eyes. "Agent Burke was so angry; I could hear him yelling all the way from his office!"

Neal grimaced; having heard some of these loud tirades before. "Are they still missing?"

"Well, not now. After all of us turned everything upside down, they were on my desk. I felt so stupid!"

Feeling his interest quicken, Neal asked, "What happened?"

"I don't know!" Ashley wailed and several people turned around to stare. "Suddenly they were there; Agent Burke grabbed them out of my hand and went back to his office. He didn't say a word to me."

Neal looked thoughtful. "Were these files pertaining to the Brentamo case?"

Ashley stopped blowing her nose. "I don't think you're supposed to know anything about that case."

"Peter," Neal caught himself in annoyance, " **Agent Burke** and I work together all the time. Naturally I want to keep up with what he's doing."

Ashley's expression chased away any doubt Neal might have had about the origin of the files. Unnecessarily, she said, "I really can't say."

"Who was in the room at the time?"

"I can't tell you that!"

Neal smiled warmly and stepped closer. "Why not?"

"Well, I don't know." Ashley trailed off in uncertainty. Giving the matter some thought, she finally said, "Some other clerks, Agents Zahn and Collins, Agent Burke was in his office. Oh, yeah. Two CIs; John Tanner, who works with Agent Collins and Sam Gamitz, who works with Agent Ruiz."

"Oh, I know who works with Agent Ruiz," Neal replied, preoccupied. He didn't like the sound of any of this.

Ashley glanced at her watch. "Well, thank you for talking my entire break away. Now I've got to get back or Agent Burke will be even angrier with me."

The line had moved and they were next up to order. "Look, don't worry about Agent Burke. I know how to handle him. Get him some espresso."

Ashley was unsure. "I don't know what he likes."

Neal gave her a bright smile, blue eyes sparkling. "I do; leave it to me," he said, digging into his jacket pocket, he pulled his wallet. "I'm just going to have to teach you how to handle him," he said with a confident smile. Ashley smiled as well, bedazzled.

 _WC WC WC_

With an air of a condemned woman, Ashley Leewood screwed up her courage and marched into Agent Burke's office. She figured it was now or never with the espresso. Neal Caffrey was so sweet (and so good looking!) but he had caused her to be even later than she had expected.

Agent Burke looked up from reading reports when she came in, a questioning expression on his face. Ashley set the cup down in front of him and said stiffly, "I'm very sorry for losing the case folders, sir."

Burke looked blank for a moment and Ashley felt like a bigger fool when she realized he'd already forgotten what happened. But his face changed when he obviously recalled the incident and his expressive brown eyes shadowed. His voice however, was not harsh. "I'm not sure that was entirely your fault, Ashley." He gave her a small smile. "I'm sorry you felt compelled to bring me a bribe though. It's like I'm extorting you." He took a sip and grinned. "Hey, this is just the way I like it. How did you know?"

Ashley's blush and stammer gave him his answer instantly.

"Let me guess; you met Neal Caffrey in the coffee shop?"

"He's awfully nice," Ashley blurted out.

Peter sighed with the attitude of someone long put upon. "Oh, he's great," he agreed sweetly but Ashley was sure she was being teased.

"Anyway, I'm sorry I messed up, Agent Burke," she muttered, determined to escape immediately.

"Ashley," Peter stood up and came around the desk. "Thank you for the espresso. I do appreciate the gesture." He towered over her with a grave expression. "From now on though, **anything** that pertains to the Brentamo case comes back here to my desk. I don't care if you're just going down the hall or stepping over to records, you bring it in here. No exceptions. Got it?"

"Yes sir, I got it." A question crossed her mind. "What if the other agents need them?" She thought of the numerous times the other agents snatched files off her desk.

"On anything regarding Brentamo, you tell them to see me." Peter grinned evilly. "If there are any complaints, send them to me personally."

"Yes, sir." Ashley turned to leave but Agent Burke's voice stopped her.

"Ashley?" Peter held up the cup. "Thanks. And tell Neal I said hello. I'm sure you'll run into him again," he added with a knowing smile.

"You're welcome." Ashley fled, cheeks blushing. Descending the stairs, she was acutely aware of Agent Watters sitting nearby, smirking.

 _The hell with him_ , she thought, suddenly not caring what that crude man was thinking.

 _WC WC WC_

"Hey, Neal! Want to catch some lunch?" Clinton Jones asked, as he and Caffrey climbed out of the surveillance van.

It had been an uneventful morning of watching some insurance adjustor going around checking houses that supposedly needed repair. They had come up with nothing definite and the investigation languished, due to a lack of evidence.

Neal stifled a yawn; he hated sitting in the van and had fidgeted nonstop all morning. Diana had threatened him with bodily harm if he didn't sit still while Jones watched the monitors, outwardly impassive. When Diana wasn't looking though, Jones had played with his cell phone; calling up the pictures of the super models he had surreptiously taken off the monitor from an earlier case. Diana had stalked out the second the van had pulled into the FBI parking lot, in an obvious hurry to leave her coworkers. Neal was surprised by Jones' invitation though; usually the agent cut out on his own for lunch, unless he had found a new bar and grill he thought Peter would like.

"Where are you going?" Neal asked warily.

Jones' gave him a dazzling smile. "Something where they serve a man food; not seeds and leaves."

"Well, we could try that new Italian place over on 6th," Neal said, warming to the idea. "I've heard they serve great pasta with alfredo sauce done in a different way-"

Jones stared at him in amazement. "Er, Neal, you do know we don't have all afternoon for lunch. Diana does expect us back in an hour or so. The lines at that place are at least an hour long."

Neal looked glum. "Yeah, I know." He frowned. "Diana's more of a stickler than Peter was."

Raising an eyebrow, Jones asked, "Peter **was**?"

Neal adjusted his trademark fedora as they walked down the sidewalk, avoiding the crowd. "You know what I mean," he said quietly.

Jones nodded. "Yeah, I do, man." Seeing a gloom settle over the conman, he asked, "Where did you and Peter go for lunch? When he's not ticked off at you, I mean?"

Neal thought for a moment. "Well, I made him go to that sushi place a couple of blocks from the office, but I don't think he really loved it."

Jones suppressed a smile. "Peter's not wild about sushi." A memory came to mind and he did smile this time. "A couple of years back we'd had a tough case; finally nailed some woman on Medicare fraud after I don't remember how many weeks of surveillance and investigating. Diana had just been made Peter's probie; she celebrated by buying everybody sushi. Everybody had some, but it turned out Peter had caught a virus sometime during the case. After he had that sushi, he was sicker than a dog. I had to drive him home that night."

"Oh." Neal looked acutely uncomfortable. "I guess that's why he turned a bit green at my suggestion."

"He hasn't looked at sushi the same since," Jones added with relish.

"Oh," Neal said again. He caught Jones' smirk. "Hey, thanks for making me feel guilty."

"No problem." Jones clapped Neal on the shoulder. "Maybe the deli?" He pointed to the one that a lot of FBI personnel frequented, primarily because it was so close the office and had good sandwiches. Jones looked at the younger man, who was uncharacteriscally quiet. "Who knows who we might see there?"

"We won't see Peter," Neal said flatly. "He's under siege up there and we can't even help him."

Clinton Jones had heard much the same thing and was no happier than Neal Caffrey at the state of affairs. "Let's just go and eat, okay?"

Neal sighed. "Yeah, Okay."

 _WC WC WC_

Peter Burke slammed into his office and collapsed into a chair behind his desk. The lights of Manhattan twinkled brightly behind him but Peter had no interest in the view. They'd lost Joey Brentamo again tonight and this time he couldn't blame Agents Barnes and Watters; he and Agent Castillo had been on the surveillance detail.

Peter leaned back; pinching the bridge of his nose, headache pounding away. _They'd been so close! And there was no way Brentamo could have picked up on the tail._ Castillo had been almost too timid this time and Peter had taken over the driving. Joey moved around too much for the surveillance truck and they were reduced to following in the Taurus. But Joey Brentamo had disappeared again on them; this time in a dance club with huge bouncers who were determined to stop even FBI agents. Or more probably, **especially** FBI agents. By the time, they'd made it in; Joey was gone, lost among the gyrating dancers and the head exploding music. Something had gone wrong, again.

A few people still worked out in the bullpen of Organized Crime but most had taken care to stay away from Agent Burke when they caught sight of his face.

He stared at the solitary picture of El on the desk. Pictures of Ruiz's wife and kids were in a drawer, carefully stacked with paper in between to preventing scratching. Peter shook his head. Ruiz was a slob. Peter had spent a good part of the first day cleaning out the desk so he could work. Ruiz seemed to have kept every scrap of paper to every investigation but in no particular order. He had heard that Ruiz might be back as early as next week. Peter hoped that was true; he would pack up his picture of El and go back to where he belonged, very happily. He was so sick of this.

It wasn't like he hadn't tasted success with the Organized Crime team though. They'd nailed Richard Deakins, a slime bag of long standing, just two weeks ago. The FBI had also put a serious dent in the Stofft family business of prostitutes and drug dealing pimps. Also, they'd gathered some important evidence about Han Wo Lee's weapons dealings, something Ruiz could build on if he could ever get his damn team to work together.

Peter leaned back and closed his eyes. He should go home. But he was in a foul mood again and he knew El was almost beginning to dread his coming home. Peter hated what he was becoming but once he got home, he could think of nothing but his cases and some new ideas about nailing Joey Brentamo would invariably disturb his sleep. He was unable to concentrate on anything Elizabeth said and it made him angry. Even during the three year chase after Neal Caffrey, it had never been anything like this. But then Neal had never gone around randomly killing people who displeased him either.

Swinging around, Peter decided to put the paperwork away for tonight. After all, how many ways could one write failure?

That was when he spotted the rubber band stress ball on the other side of the desk from El's picture.

The first time he'd seen that was on their first case together. Neal, just out of prison, was sitting in the conference room tossing it when Peter walked by and intercepted it in midair. He didn't remember where he put it that night but later he had seen on Jones' desk, then on Diana's and back to Neal again. But it hadn't been on his own desk again for a long time.

Leaning forward, Peter saw a note lay underneath it.

You need this more than I do. Bring it back upon your return.

XOXO

Peter couldn't help it; he grinned. _Idiot. Hugs and kisses, yeah sure._ Then the grin became a soft chuckle.

"Well, that's a sound I haven't heard in a while." Neal Caffrey suddenly stepped into the light of the office.

Peter jumped. "Damn, Neal, where did you come from? And stop doing that!"

Neal smoothly slid into the chair across from Peter before any objections could be raised. "I'm just passing through."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "At this hour? And you go up to find your way out?"

Neal smiled brightly. "You know how I like to have an escape route."

Rolling his eyes, Peter muttered, "Don't remind me."

Turning serious, Neal remarked, "You look way beyond exhausted, Peter."

"Things haven't exactly worked out like I hoped up here," Peter said in what he thought was a masterpiece of understatement.

Neal gave him an intense look. "Does this mean you have to do everything yourself?"

"Some days," Peter admitted.

"Mozzie says Sammy Gamitz is Agent Ruiz's CI."

Peter's expression became guarded. "Yes."

"Do you trust him?" Neal asked, leaning forward, elbows on the desk.

"No."

"Does Sammy know what's going on?"

Peter leaned forward as well. "If you're going to say something, Neal, just say it."

Neal met his eyes. "Sammy is not trustworthy. He'll sell out anyone, at any time. But Mozzie thinks you might already know that."

Peter became a bit irritated. "How the hell does the little guy know all of this?"

Neal shrugged. "You know Mozz."

"Not well enough, obviously," Peter snapped. "Look, Neal, I'm tired and I don't want to play games tonight. Do you know something or not?"

Looking regretful, the younger man shook his head. "I don't have any specifics. Understandably, Mozzie is a bit reluctant to put himself on the Brentamo family radar."

"Understandably," Peter agreed. He felt almost weak with relief. "Does that mean you've stayed out of trouble too?"

" **Somebody** ," Neal put an emphasis on the word, "asked me to stay away from Organized Crime. So, I've stayed away."

Peter leaned back again, relief plain on his face. "Good. Neal, I don't want you or the little guy involved. In all of your little misadventures together, you two have steered clear from organized crime and I want that to continue. I appreciate the thought, but I'm spread too thin here. I can't spare people to protect you if you get in too deep."

Neal seemed to bristle. "So, who are these agents of yours who keep screwing things up? Can't they do anything to help?"

"They haven't been any good so far," Peter retorted. Immediately, though, he felt the injustice of that remark. "Well, most of them haven't," he amended.

"What about Barnes and Watters?" At Peter's questioning look, Neal added, "I met them on my first foray up here."

"They're both pains in the neck and fairly lousy agents." Peter slouched in his chair. "They pretend to be Ruiz's friends but from what I've heard, they stab him in the back as regularly as they do me."

At this, Neal began to look alarmed. "What?"

Peter held up a hand. "Figuratively. Don't get excited."

Neal took a deep breath. "Do you think they're involved with the Brentamos? They have a long proud history of adding cops to their payroll."

Peter felt a flash of irritation; _this was the Bureau, dammit, not NYPD_. But he had to admit the validity of Neal's question. "I have no proof," he replied softly.

Not to be put off, Neal asked, "What about the famous Peter Burke gut reaction?"

For a moment, Peter had a hard time meeting Neal's eyes. "I think there's trouble there. But I don't know which one or both or maybe they're just not interested in helping some agent from that pansy ass White Collar division look good."

"What?" Neal's blue eyes flashed fire. "Pansy ass? Maybe they'd like to take on Ghovat? Or Keller?"

Peter smiled. "Neal, you're becoming a team player. Look at you, sticking up for White Collar like that."

Neal smiled and shrugged. "I can't help it. Mozzie says I'm becoming brainwashed like the masses."

Peter gave a soft snort. "Yeah, like he would know. Mister Conspiracy Theories R Us."

Neal made a motion with his hands like he was clearing the air. "Okay, let's move on. Who else is up here?"

Sighing, Peter replied, "Neal, I shouldn't even be talking to you about this." He also wondered why Neal would be so interested in all of this. OC was way out of his comfort zone and Peter was stymied as to what Neal's angle was in all of this.

"Well," Neal made a show of checking his watch, "I'm thinking Diana will kill you if you call her this late. And Jones was going out tonight. So that leaves me."

"All right, all right." Peter struggled to organize his thoughts. Sometime after Neal had come in, he had relaxed and now he was so very tired. _Better to just humor the young man and then go home._ "Agent Collins is a good man and he did a nice job on the Stofft investigation. But he keeps to himself and is not interested in being a team player."

"With Barnes and Watters, I can see why," Neal observed. "Who else?"

"Agent Zahn did excellent work on the Deakins case; did you know we nailed him, by the way?"

"No." Neal was impressed. "I really couldn't stand that guy," he muttered, thinking of a past caper.

Behind closed eyes, Peter asked, "Why?"

"Well, he got in the way of a …." Neal trailed off and smiled when he saw Peter's eyes snap open. "Nice try. I heard Deakins got in the way of somebody's alleged art reproduction. Anyway back to Agent Zahn."

Peter smiled at the transparent change of subject. "She's even more close mouthed than Collins. Seems to hate everybody here, except Ruiz, believe it or not. She's pretty well frozen me out, until she spotted me coming back from a departmental meeting with Diana. Then I finally got some cooperation out of her."

Neal pursed his lips. "Interested in Diana? Or just banging her head against the glass ceiling of the old boys club?"

Peter smirked. "I think it's the glass ceiling. She has a boyfriend; they call each other all the time." Glancing at his watch, Peter grimaced. "I've got to get home. El probably thinks I've left the country."

Neal stood up. "I'll ride with you."

"Yes, Neal, I'd love to give you a ride," Peter grumbled.

Neal shook his head, face determined. "You can hardly keep your eyes open. And don't give me any of that guff about the Taurus driving itself. I'm going to make sure you stay awake. At least part of the way."

Peter thought about arguing but it seemed more effort than it was worth. "Oh, come on," he said in a grumpy voice.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, I can't do much with this intel," Mozzie declared dramatically. "Plus my options are very limited when it comes to checking out FBI agents!"

"We don't need life stories," Neal said, sitting down on his couch. "Just a hint of something going on."

Mozzie, from his perch on the easy chair, stared back owlishly. "Just how will the Suit explain this to the FBI if we get killed hanging around with Sammy Gamitz? I'd like the storm troopers of oppression to at least pay for my funeral!"

Neal sighed. He'd hoped Mozz wouldn't make a big deal of it but in reality, he knew better. "Peter doesn't know anything about this."

Mozzie's eyes bugged out. "What are you saying?"

Neal was tired and did not have his usual patience for his odd little friend. "Look, Mozz, I talked to Peter last night. He suspects he has a mole in the ranks or maybe an out and out employee of the Brentamos right under his feet. You were right; he doesn't trust Sammy and started cutting him out of the loop a while back. But I think someone is still feeding Sammy information or maybe he's made his own deal. I want to check it out."

"The Suit should check it out," Mozzie grumbled. "This is his job."

Neal had had enough. "I don't think you said that when you thought Gina was in danger. You wanted Peter to drop everything then."

Mozzie managed to look deeply wounded. "He's the Suit; naturally he would rush to the rescue of the fair damsel."

Neal jumped to his feet. "Then stay home." He went to pick up his suit jacket and put it on.

Mozzie jumped up as well. "Let's not be hasty, _mon ami_."

 _WC WC WC_

The bar was loud and smoky, despite the new anti-smoking ban. A television blared overhead with the Mets playing Philly. Neal Caffrey, dressed down for the occasion, prayed no one he knew would spot him in the dated sports coat with the frayed sleeves and the pants that didn't really fit. It pained him beyond belief to wear these clothes but it was essential that he look less than prosperous.

Mozzie trailed along behind, trying his best to blend into Neal's shadow. They found a booth near the back by the restrooms and there was a parade of drunken men and painted women who all managed to bat their eyes at Neal as they passed.

Neal and Mozzie sat down and ordered beer. The barmaid, a hardened woman in her forties, was openly curious at the two newcomers but took Neal's twenty quickly enough.

"Sammy here tonight?" Neal inquired.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's over there," the woman pointed to a group of men around a pool table. Nobody was shooting pool though, just talking and arguing.

"How about going over there and telling Sammy I'd like to see him," Neal said with a dazzling smile.

The woman smiled slightly but seemed a bit reluctant to be swept off her feet. "Sammy know you?"

"He might not remember me, but I remember him," Neal replied.

After a moment, the woman left to approach the group at the pool table.

Neal turned to find Mozzie wiping off the table with a napkin and GermX. "Mozz, don't do that."

"You don't know how dirty this place is," Mozzie exclaimed. "It's like a germ factory on steroids; we could die of some previously unknown disease here!"

"We're tough guys, Mozz. We don't care. Cool it; here he comes."

Sammy Gamitz, wearing a loud sports coat and, to Neal's profound chagrin, a battered fedora, strode up to the table. "Heard you wanted to see me. I gotta tell you, I usually tell people when I want to see them, not the other way around."

Neal smiled. "Sammy, don't be that way. We practically work together."

Sammy's eyes narrowed. "Well, hell. If it ain't little Neal Caffrey, the boy wonder, in person."

With a shake of the head, Neal motioned for Mozzie to move over and allow Sammy to sit down. The waitress came back with the beers. "Sammy, what are you drinking?"

Gamitz eyed the beer warily. "Not that stuff. Honey, give me a shot of my special bottle," he said, swatting her backside. She made a gesture at him and moved to comply.

"So, Caffrey, this ain't your usual haunt. What are you doing here?" Sammy became aware of Mozzie staring at him, entranced. The flashing Budweiser sign over head made Gamitz look satanic, in Mozzie's mind. "What's with him?"

Neal, annoyed, kicked Mozzie lightly on the leg. "He's a little bit spacey. But harmless. However," Neal leaned forward with the air of sharing a big secret, "he's not the reason I called you over. You've got my keeper up there, Agent Burke."

Sammy guffawed. "You want him back? You can have him. Guy's a pain in the ass. Here, I thought you were gonna cry about that time I crossed you on that sweet little painting scam."

Neal shook his head. "Ancient history. No, you misunderstand. I don't want Agent Burke back. I'm tired of him, big time. He tries to run my life, 24/7. No, I just want to know how long you can keep him up there and out of my hair."

Gamitz tried to look all knowing. "Not the way I hear it. You two are pretty cozy together. Everybody in Organized Crime was waiting to see when you'd cross Burke and run. Ruiz talked of it all the time. For myself, I was very disappointed in you; buddying up to a Fed that way. I've also seen you coming and going out of the building together; you look pretty tight to me."

Neal nodded. "Good."

Gamitz and even Mozzie looked blank. Neal smiled. "That's what I want them thinking."

Sammy looked skeptical. "You're telling me this is all a play?"

Neal sighed; boy, this guy was slow. "Look, I needed to get out of prison; I cut a deal, not unlike yours and I got out. I had nothing better to do for a while, so I played along. Paid back a few people, if you know what I mean. But I'm ready to move on now; I just need some seed money to get going. If you can keep Agent Burke up there on your floor for a while longer, it will help me make my move. And I make a point to remember my friends."

They paused while the waitress brought Sammy's drink. She glanced at Neal and Mozzie, who both shook their heads no. They could see her disappointment; small tippers at this table.

"You've said what you want," Sammy said after she'd left. "I don't know why you don't set up your own deal. You used to be quite the independent."

"That was then," Neal insisted. "Now I've got this," he held out his foot so Gamitz could see the blinking tracking anklet, "and a host of other problems, most of them named Burke."

Sammy stared wide eyed at the anklet. "And now you've led the Feds here?"

"Relax. I'm within my radius. And if I weren't, the Marshals would contact Agent Peter Burke first. Time enough to make my move, if you and your friends kept him busy."

"You're presuming a lot, Caffrey. I see little reward on my end. And why is this guy here?"

Mozzie spoke up. "I'd be the one seeing that you were properly rewarded for being a friend. Also, I have a few connections of my own. Perhaps something mutually beneficial could be arranged down the road."

Gamitz glared. "I think I'm being taken here. Besides, if Burke is such a problem, I know some guys who could take care of that for you. They're not cheap but the problem would be solved, permanently."

Inwardly, Neal blanched; this was not going well.

Mozzie, however, jumped into the fray. "Oh, that's just great. Kill a federal agent! You might as well plead guilty now, because every cop and fed in the country will be wanting a piece of you. Your low profile escape becomes a high profile serial killer type pursuit."

Neal simply shook his head. "No. If you say you know me, you know I don't operate that way." He paused. "Besides, I wouldn't mind Agent Burke stewing in hot water for a while. The FBI would have his head if he lost me."

Gamitz threw up his hands. "Why are we here, then?"

"You're close to the Brentamo family; with some of their hired help, I could get out of the country clean. In return, I would owe them. I would be happy to lend my, er, **expertise** to some future project they might have in mind. You never did get that painting either, Sammy. I happen to know that Father Brentamo is an art collecting fiend, unlike Joey, who thinks Doonesbury is a work of art on par with Monet." Neal leaned forward again. "But I also know you've got somebody in the Bureau to watch your back. I'd like them watching mine, until I get out of here and can start living my own life again. Whoever that is could distract Burke and let me go on my way. I would make it worth their while. You know I can."

Gamitz eyed Neal's clothes. "If you're rich, you hide it well. Besides, you don't dress like that in the Bureau."

Neal gave him a huge smile. "Image, my man. It's all about image. Besides, I needed to fit in here with," he paused to look around with some distaste, 'the clientele."

"I'm going to have to have something more solid than your promises, Caffrey."

"You talk to whoever you need to. I'll get something solid for you."

"I don't like meeting you with that tell all on your ankle," Sammy declared.

"All right. My associate here will meet you," Neal replied. Mozzie did not look pleased but kept silent.

"Okay, give me a day or so. I'll be in touch." Gamitz drained his drink and swaggered back to the pool table.

"We didn't get much there," Mozzie observed.

"We know for sure there **is** an agent on the Brentamo payroll," Neal said. "I wish we knew who it was though." Neal's thoughts raced. "Peter's got to watch his back."

"Thanks to your misplaced nobility, we will have to watch ours too," Mozzie muttered gloomily.

 _WC WC WC_

"Burning the midnight oil again?" A disembodied voice floated out of the darkness of the Organized Crime bullpen.

Peter Burke jumped. Another look at the figure in the doorway, the familiar irritation surfaced. "I wish to hell you'd stop doing that!"

Neal Caffrey smiled and entered the office, dropping into a chair. "Do you ever go home these days?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Peter snapped, closing a case folder. He leaned back and took a look at his friend. Neal was wearing clothes that were so un- Neal like Peter almost burst out laughing. With an effort, he kept a straight face. "Nice ensemble."

Neal took off the loud sports coat that reeked of cigarette smoke. "You may laugh now but I've been out scouting around for you."

Alarm bells started going off in Peter's head. "You've been scouting around? By yourself?"

Neal shrugged. "Mozzie was with me."

Peter felt faint. "Oh, that's a great comfort. The Hardy Boys on an adventure. What the hell were you two doing?"

"Talking with Sammy Gamitz."

 _Now the world was spinning out of control._ "Dammit, Neal, these guys aren't playing around! You know I didn't want you to be involved in this. You and the little guy could get killed!"

Neal held up his hands. "Relax, it's all right. I didn't represent myself as anybody but Neal Caffrey, FBI stooge and bitterly resentful CI of my keeper, the overbearing Peter Burke."

Peter looked suspicious. "Something tells me that didn't take a lot of acting on your part."

"Some days are easier than others." Noticing Peter's sudden look of anger, Neal spoke hastily. "More importantly, we did find out for sure one thing. One of your agents is on the Brentamo payroll."

Peter leaned back in his chair. His face gave nothing away but the brown eyes flashed fire. "Do tell."

Neal looked unhappy. "We don't know who it is yet; Sammy doesn't trust me that far. Maybe in a couple of days, he said."

"What did you have to give in return?"

"Money. My help on some future Brentamo family business matters," Neal said evasively.

"That's it?" Peter asked, his tone openly skeptical.

"For now."

They both heard a noise out in the bullpen. There was barely enough light to illuminate the stairs. Agent Alan Barnes came into view, a shark like smile pasted on his face. "Sorry, chief. I didn't know I was breaking up a reunion here," he remarked insolently as he came into the office.

Neal didn't move his chair an inch. "You haven't," he replied with his own insincere smile, his blue eyes sharp and bright.

Peter stayed where he was, still leaning back, his posture seemingly relaxed. "What do you need, Barnes?"

Barnes gave Neal a sharp look. "Am I supposed to talk in front of **him**?"

Peter never took his eyes off the agent. "Neal, can he talk in front of you?"

Neal leaned back with the air of making himself at home. "Sure; I don't mind at all."

"He doesn't mind," Peter said politely, while privately questioning his own judgement in not sending Neal away. But there was something about Barnes that made him throw away little things like protocol and good sense. "So what's up?"

"Agent Burke, this is Organized Crime business. I may have to file a report if you make me say what I know in front of this felon!"

Peter suddenly jumped up, a fast move that nearly had Barnes falling backward. "You file any damn report you want to, Agent Barnes. God knows, I've got a bunch to file on you as well. Now tell me what you have to say, right now!"

Neal watched, fascinated as Barnes began to give ground under the onslaught of the famous Peter Burke personality. "Sammy Gamitz says the Brentamo family is bringing in a huge shipment of drugs very soon. He doesn't know where or when yet but he wants to meet with you right away. Says he'll have the information by the time you meet him. He's at a bar over on 22nd, called the Blue Gin."

Neal shifted, concern on his face. Peter however, sat back down, seemingly with no worries. "Why me? Sammy doesn't seem as fond of me as he is of you."

"Well," for the first time, Barnes seemed flustered. "I guess it's because you're the boss. You're in Ruiz's spot. It's your call and your job."

"Tell you what. You come along with me, Barnes. We'll see what Sammy has together." Peter ignored Neal as his blue eyes got wide.

Barnes frowned. "I think Sammy wants to see you alone."

Peter shook his head. "I don't want to see Sammy alone. Guy gives me a headache." He turned to Neal. "This is outside your radius, Neal. I'm afraid you can't come along, although I'm sure this Blue Gin would be right up your alley."

"I've never been there before," Neal replied, signaling Peter that this was not the bar where he and Mozzie had met Sammy earlier. "How am I going to get home? I need a ride," he added in a grating, whiney voice.

"Call Jones. He'll love hearing from you. He can take you home," Peter said abruptly. Burying his private misgivings about involving Neal even this much, he asked his recalcitrant agent, "Do you know where this Blue Gin is located?"

"Er, not really. Only what Sammy told me," Barnes admitted.

"We'll Map Quest it then," Peter said, turning to his computer. "Get out of here, Neal. I'll see you some other time. I'll probably be very late tonight."

Unhappy, Neal stood up, taking his loud sports coat with him, making sure to swing it over by Barnes, who wrinkled up his nose at the smoke. "Yeah, okay. Thanks a lot, **Agent** Burke." He brushed by Barnes and went outside the office.

He lingered long enough to hear Barnes ask, "Why not use the GPS in your car, Burke? Be easier."

"Thing's not working right," Peter grumbled, tapping on the keyboard. "Some intermittent problem. It will only take a minute to get the information here."

As soon as he was out the door and into the darkened main floor, Neal pulled out his cell phone and dialed on the run. "Jones? It's Neal. Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. But Peter needs us. How fast can you get here at the office?" Neal hurriedly explained the situation while waiting for the elevator.

The elevator arrived and Neal went inside, pushing a floor button and hitting speed dial on his phone. "Elizabeth, its Neal. Peter asked me to call you; he's going to be very late tonight. No, really, it will be all right. Jones and I have his back."


	5. Chapter 5

The Blue Gin was a hole in the wall, a grimy, smoky place that stank. Several rough types loitered around shooting venomous looks at Peter and Barnes. Sammy Gamitz joined them after a few minutes. "Agent Burke. I thought you were coming alone?"

"Agent Barnes thought it safer if he joined us," Peter said earnestly, privately smirking on the inside.

Barnes looked unhappy as he looked around. "Hell, I think I put at least a couple of guys in here away."

Sammy shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were both so edgy. Next time I'll be more careful about a meeting place."

"Well, now that we're here, what do exactly do you have?" Peter asked in a dangerously calm voice.

"Just what I told you. The Brentamo family is bringing in a huge drug shipment. The old man doesn't want to be involved, but Joey needs the money."

"You'd better have more than this," Peter said dangerously.

Sammy Gamitz leaned forward, his manner changing instantly from cocky to frightened. "Not really but I was told to get you here, Agent Burke. Or else."

Peter's eyes darkened. "Or else?"

Gamitz squirmed. "Or else. Do I gotta spell it out?"

"I think you just did." Peter smiled. Gamitz was scared and Barnes was openly staring around in a panic. Reaching across the table, he pulled Gamitz to his feet by his suit collar. "Come on, Sammy. You're going out first. That way you'll know for sure just how close you are with the Family. See the guy in the gray shirt, back booth? He's a Brentamo family wannabe who does jobs for them cheap and dirty. I don't know who the other guy is. Got any guesses?"

Sammy shrugged, very unhappy.

Peter would have loved to force the issue but they were outnumbered in this bar. Making Sammy to walk in front of him, Peter made his way to the front door, Barnes trailing nervously along behind. The unlikely group stepped out in the inky darkness of backstreet New York. Suddenly there was a scuffle and they heard a voice shout, "Gun down! Gun down, right now! FBI!"

The door swung open behind them, and the Brentamo family man who had followed them outside found himself confronted by two guns, Burke's and Barnes'. He stopped and put his gun down on the ground immediately, where Peter scooped it up.

Never taking his eyes off the man Barnes was cuffing, Peter called out into the darkness. "Jones? Neal?"

They came into the dim light of the bar, Jones leading a handcuffed man in a sweatshirt and jeans. Peter looked a bit put out when he saw who it was. "Damn, all I rate is Freddie DiStephano? I'm offended as hell."

Jones grinned. "Maybe Freddie's gone up in the world, Peter. Maybe he gets a thousand a shot now, stead of five hundred."

Peter scowled as Neal stepped forward. "Freddie's cheap because he's a back shooter and very messy hitter." Neal's look was grim. "I saw what you did to that museum guard a few years ago. The one who took two hours to die."

Freddie, a homely man, with bad teeth, smiled jauntily. "He drew first; self-defense. Not my problem they hired a slow grandad for security."

Alan Barnes looked around nervously. "Could we chat about this later? I'm thinking the walls have ears."

Peter turned around to look at the other man who had remained silent. "So who was that with you in the booth back there?"

"Nobody there, Fed," the man snarled. "You must have imagined it."

"I don't think so," Peter muttered. He had an opportunity but it was gone. All they had was Gamitz and two low rent hitters. _Damn, what a night._ He still wasn't much better off than before. "All right, let's go. Sammy, I think we'd better put you in protective custody. The Brentamo family might get the wrong idea about you and then where would I be without your wonderful information?"

Sammy scowled, but he ignored Peter and hissed at Neal. "Damn you, Caffrey. You played me, you bastard!"

Neal smiled widely. "It was so easy, Sammy. So very easy."

With an ugly look of rage, Sammy snarled, "We'll see about that, smart guy!"

 _WC WC WC_

Peter Burke was vaguely aware it was very late, but he was engrossed in his work. Evenings were one of the few times he could work in peace and, unfortunately, secretly check on the agents of Organized Crime. It went against the grain to, well, spy on his agents but the longer the Brentamo case went on, the more convinced Peter was that at least one of the agents in O.C. was tainted, if not downright dirty. He simply could not chance someone running into his office during the day seeing something they shouldn't on his desk or his computer screen.

He was so busy at his computer he didn't notice the man in the doorway until a familiar dry voice cut across his research. "Agent Burke, I am dutifully impressed by your diligence. But I am tired of standing here. It's been a long day."

Startled, Peter jumped up. "Hughes! I'm sorry. Please come and sit down. What brings you here?"

Hughes sat down into the chair Peter offered, dropping his coat on the extra chair. "Thought I'd see for myself how things are going up here. Naturally, I'm reading the official reports and that damned gadfly Caffrey's got some young woman who keeps him in the loop."

Peter sighed. "Ashley Leewood. Junior clerk. She's, um, susceptible to Neal's charm."

Hughes snorted. "I suppose it's that damned hat!"

Peter put a hand over his eyes. "God, I hope not."

They shared a quiet laugh. Reese Hughes took the opportunity to really look at his agent. "Peter, your eyes are so bloodshot they look like a vampire's in one of those silly books my granddaughter reads. When did you last go home?"

"Last night, sir."

"Talk to your wife?"

"Yes."

"What did you say to her?"

A weak smile crossed Peter's face. "Good night."

Hughes shifted. "I deeply appreciate the job you're doing here. Organized Crime has always been a bit of a mess; sometimes by the very nature of the job itself. But I'm troubled you seem to feel the need to do everything yourself. Isn't Agent Stevenson helping you?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably. Stevenson was a contemporary of Hughes; he headed Organized Crime, the same position Hughes held with White Collar. "I know Agent Stevenson is a friend of yours."

Hughes leaned back in his chair. "Well, that answers that, I guess."

Peter looked troubled and regretful. "I'm sorry. But Stevenson says good morning and good evening when he leaves, right at five. He gave me a pep talk about holding things together until Ruiz returns. That's been it." Peter stretched his arms and sighed. "I tried talking to him a couple of weeks ago. I talked cases, he told me about his grandkids."

Hughes looked down and shook his head. "Eddie Stevenson was a damn fine agent at one time. A couple of years behind me but he rose fast. When he caught two bullets in that mob shootout back in '93, he hasn't been the same since. He could retire any time but since his wife passed, he doesn't want to go home. Spends all his time with his kids and grandkids."

"Has anyone noticed?" Peter inquired.

"Bancroft told me Stevenson is being monitored closely. That's all I've heard." Hughes glanced at the darkened computer screen. "So what are you up to here, Agent Burke?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably. "I don't have any proof. Just a lot of unfounded suspicions."

Hughes waved a hand. "I'll take your suspicions over most people's proof. Cut to the chase, Peter."

Taking a deep breath, Peter said quickly, "I'm looking into the background of my agents."

"Caffrey has told me several times that Sammy Gamitz is not trustworthy. You think he has inside help?"

Grimacing, Peter admitted, "I don't know."

Hughes was not to be put off. "What does your gut say?"

"It says yes. Someone is tipping the Brentamos. Until I have proof though, I can't let anyone know I'm doing this. OPR if nothing else would be after me, let alone individual lawyers."

Hughes scoffed. "OPR would only be upset if they didn't think of the idea first." He pulled his chair closer. "Since Agent Stevenson is out of the loop, I'd better lend a hand." Peter began to protest and Hughes held up his hand. "This is partly self-serving. When I get my senior agent back, I'd like to have something left, not a," he sputtered, "zombie."

Peter grinned fondly as Hughes took over a pile of papers. "More of the granddaughter's reading, sir?"

"My daughter tells me it's Jane Austen. Turns out it's Jane Austen with zombies. And that's what happens to literature in today's world!"

Peter laughed as the two of them got to work.

 _WC WC WC_

Clinton Jones and Neal Caffrey watched as Reese Hughes shouted into his phone in his upper level office. Unfortunately, they could not hear what was going on in the glass enclosed office; perhaps Diana could in Peter's old office but it was doubtful. "Wonder what that's all about?" Neal asked.

"I've heard some talk," Jones said abruptly. At the con man's questioning look, he elaborated, "It seems our man Agent Burke has brought up Organized Crime's arrest rate. Big shots noticed. Wondering if maybe they should make that change permanent."

Neal stared at Jones in amazement. "They can't do that!" he protested.

"This is the Bureau, Neal. If they want to, they can make it stick." Jones shrugged, like it was of little interest to him, but they both knew better.

"Agent Ruiz is back from Miami, I heard. We should get Peter back soon, right?" Neal asked, desperate for some reassurance.

"I don't know; maybe that is what Hughes is talking about."

Sure enough, Hughes got off the phone and headed to Diana's office, pausing at the railing to give the dreaded FBI two finger point to Neal and Jones.

When they all gathered in the office currently used by Diana, Hughes broke the bad news. "It seems the powers that be want Agent Burke to stay with Organized Crime for a while longer, even though Agent Ruiz is now back and available for duty. In short, Peter's done too good of a job and they are now closing in on Joey Brentamo. Bancroft just gave me the word that Burke will stay with Organized Crime until they close that case."

"Will we get him back then?" Diana asked in a clear voice.

"Barring complications, yes. But what Agent Burke is involved in is very serious and very dangerous. I've been looking the other way at some unauthorized trips upstairs; don't look so shocked, Caffrey. I know you've been up there doing your best to get information out of a Ms. Leewood but this has to stop. You and Jones helped out Agent Burke last week and I know he is grateful, but at this stage of the operation it's too dangerous for these ad lib missions. As standard procedure in these cases, we're going to have a protection detail on Agent Burke's house and his wife and I don't need unauthorized, unexplained visitors there until this is over." Looking at the somber group, Hughes cleared his throat. "Look, you've all done magnificently during this trying time. Agent Barrigan, you've exceeded my fondest hopes and you've ran the team smoothly in Agent Burke's absence. Agent Jones, you've been outstanding running point in the van and as well as being a complete team player and a help to Agent Barrigan. Our recovery rate has only dipped slightly these past couple of months and that's a credit to you all. Even Caffrey," he added sourly but the gleam in his eyes belied the comment. "Now we just need to hold it together for a short time more."

Neal's phone buzzed; Hughes looked annoyed but Neal drew out his phone anyway. On the screen was a message from Mozzie: SAMMY'S OUT?

"We're not holding up your social planning, are we, Caffrey?" Hughes inquired darkly.

"Sammy Gamitz is no longer in protective custody?" Neal blurted out.

Hughes looked startled. "What?"

"My sources tell me Sammy Gamitz is back out on the street!"

Diana and Jones exchanged glances; they knew who Neal's 'sources' were. Concern however, not amusement, was their reaction.

"I can't believe that. Are you sure about this, Caffrey?"

Neal didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

Hughes moved back to his desk. "Let me make some calls before-"

Neal cut him off. "There's no time, sir. Let's call Peter and warn him first."

"Just hold on a moment!" Hughes was exasperated. "How does everyone find out these things? The FBI must be on a tell all web page somewhere! I do know the Justice Department was making inquiries about Sammy Gamitz. If they can roll him over on Joey Brentamo, their case is made. But I didn't think anything had come of it this quickly."

"But what is some deal is made?" Neal was unhappy and didn't bother for once to hide it. "If Sammy's out, who's going to watch Peter's back?"

Diana and Jones turned to stare at Hughes, who suddenly looked old. But only for a moment. "Look, I have to make some calls. I will keep you posted – Caffrey, don't try to call Agent Burke yourself. Right now he's in New Jersey, on a stake out watching a Liberian freighter that more than likely is filled with hashish and raw opium for the Brentamo family drug empire. If you or any of you try to get in touch with him, you'll accomplish nothing but perhaps put him in danger. Now, go back to work. I'll let you know when I hear anything.

Neal stood there with a mutinous expression on his face and it took Jones to forcibly move him along.

Diana, Jones and Neal went back to the bullpen, but none of them did any work.

After a few minutes on the phone and some heated moments, Hughes came out of his office on a run. "I've alerted Agent Burke and sent some reinforcements. I'm assuming I don't need to ask for volunteers to go to New Jersey?"

Diana and Jones moved to pick up their coats. Neal already had his on and stood in the way with a 'I will not be moved' expression.

"Caffrey, come on!" Hughes barked. "But, do not get in the way under any circumstances, do I make myself clear?"

Neal was already running for the door. "Very clear, sir."


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you very much for the reviews, favorites and follows._

The air around the docks was unseasonably chilly and a wind whipped two men standing in the drafty dockside shack unmercifully. It was cold and getting dark and soon the FBI's Organized Crime team would move on the ship, hoping their tips were correct.

Peter Burke clicked off the phone he carried and walked over to where Agent Phil Ruiz huddled by the grimy window.

Without preamble, Peter asked, "How much do you trust Sammy Gamitz?"

"Well enough," Ruiz replied. "As long as I don't turn my back on him and he gets taken care of, there's no problem." Unable to resist, he added, "I don't coddle my CIs the way you do Caffrey."

"Forget Caffrey for a moment," Peter snapped. "I was going over the files a while back; you do know you had a perfect opportunity to get Joey Brentamo at Coney Island last summer, right?"

"Well, it looked good at the time, Pete," Ruiz agreed. "But something scared ol' Joey off; I thought maybe old man Brentamo had gone wind of Junior's side business with the strong arm guys."

Peter stared at him like a hawk that had spotted a mouse. "Was Sammy involved?"

Ruiz stirred uneasily. "Well, yeah, he was the front man. But Sammy's in good with the Brentamo family, always has been. They didn't suspect anything."

"Come on, Ruiz! You think they're still gonna love Sammy when they find out he's hanging around with the Bureau? Or did you stop to think that maybe they've known what Sammy is up to all along?"

Ruiz, who had been defensive all evening, now looked angry. "You know, Pete, for a guy who has turned my department upside down this last couple of months and has all my people mad as hell, you sure are pushy. But then you always have been that."

"Sorry I hurt your delicate feelings. Now, what about Sammy? Did you cut him loose?"

"Me? Hell, no. My CI isn't talking to me right now, not after the famous Agent Burke screwed him over. This bit tonight is probably the last intel we'll ever get from old Sammy."

"Yeah, I'm sure it will be a big loss," Peter snapped impatiently. "That phone call I received was from Agent Hughes. They think Sammy is out ."

Ruiz looked thoughtful. "Maybe it was that DOJ guy hanging around. He's looking to make a big score about the Brentamos. I hear he wants to run for office as a crime buster. Idiot will probably make it too," he added bitterly.

Peter stared. "Ruiz, have you ever noticed that your department doesn't work together at all? You've got armed camps all over the place. Everybody looking out for themselves. They don't communicate and they don't seem to care."

"Look, Pete, my bunch may not be as smooth as your White Collar dilettantes but our workload is a helluva lot heavier and dirtier. We're playing in the league that plays for keeps, not chasing after wine, stocks and paintings. We may not be pretty but we get the job done."

"Do you really think you've gotten the job done lately?" Peter asked flatly.

Ruiz's eyes flashed. "So, you think my guys are stupid, is that it?"

"Phil, I'm pretty sure one of them is dirty."

Ruiz sagged like Peter had punched him in the gut. "No," he said automatically.

Peter's expression softened. "So, you **had** suspected it before now. You just didn't want to think it might be true."

Ruiz waved a hand in the air. "I've had so much to do," he admitted helplessly. "I knew Barnes and Watters were playing their own games, but I just didn't have the time to follow through. Collins hates my guts and wants transferred out. Castillo is afraid of his own shadow. Zahn runs to me with every little thing; I didn't think she could handle anything too tough." Ruiz gathered himself to glance quickly at Peter. "She's not like that hard case that has your back over in your unit." He took a deep breath. "Who do you think it is?"

There was a squawk from the radio. "Agent Ruiz, Sammy Gamitz is here and wants to see you," Agent Zahn's voice came from the speaker.

"Is he alone?" Ruiz asked.

"Yes."

Ruiz turned to Peter. "What do you think?"

Peter looked grim. "Bring him in but do not turn your back on him, Phil. Not for any reason."

Ruiz radioed Zahn to let Gamitz past.

Sammy arrived at the shack, stamping his feet with cold and complaining. Ruiz reached over and shook the man. "You made enough noise to tip them off already, Sammy. Don't overdo it."

Gamitz looked impatient. "No worries, Ruiz. The crew is at dinner right now. They'll start unloading in half an hour." He saw Peter Burke standing by the shack's one grimy window. "What the hell is he doing here? He'll blow the whole thing."

Peter gave Gamitz an icy look. "More to the point, why are you here, Sammy? How did you get out of custody?"

Gamitz puffed up considerably. "The Department of Justice values what I bring to the table, Agent Burke. They know I can help them with the Brentamos. And they're way more important than you are!"

"Sammy, how long were you playing me?" Phil Ruiz's voice was flat and emotionless. The words hung in the air starkly.

Gamitz was startled. "Look, Phil, don't let this hotshot from White Collar tell you what to think. I helped you get Sonny Lutero, didn't I?"

"That was last year, Sam. There's been nothing since."

"Did the Brentamos want Lutero out, Sammy?"

"Burke, you're paranoid, man. I can't figure out how you got to be such a hotshot. Maybe Caffrey's been doing all your work."

Peter's look was icy. "He had you pegged quick enough."

"Yeah and the first thing he did was run squealing to you Trust me, guys will remember that." Gamitz snapped. Turning, he addressed Ruiz. "Phil, I'm telling you, it's time to send this guy back to the bank embezzlers and the guys who don't get their hands dirty."

Ruiz started to argue but gunfire erupted around the tin shack. Peter, Ruiz and Gamitz dove to the filthy floor as glass shattered around them.

"All units, we're under fire!" Peter yelled into the walkie talkie. "I repeat, we're under fire. Move in, move in! But exercise caution; I think the fire is coming from the ship!"

There was a squawk of acknowledgement as various agents of the FBI approached the ship. The small building came under fire again and shards of glass showered down over three men.

"Dammit, you sold us out," Ruiz yelled. Gamitz gave him a dirty look.

Peter was exasperated. "What was your first clue?"

A bullet smashed in through the thin wall and metal splinters were driven into Agent Ruiz's cheek. "We've got to get out of here, Pete!" he gasped.

They heard more gunfire and the people on the ship ceased firing on them. Peter carefully pulled the door open and looked out cautiously. No one but FBI agents headed up the gang plank. "I think we're all right now," he said carefully. He glanced over at Ruiz. "You all right?"

Ruiz took a savage swipe at the blood on his face. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Let's get'em." He grabbed Gamitz by the collar. "Don't try anything, Sammy."

They went out the door with Peter in the lead. The darkness helped hide the trio. They heard some shouting from the ship but no gunfire. Peter held the walkie talkie up to his lips. "Talk to me, people."

Agent Collins responded. "We're aboard the ship and we have most of the crew in custody. Still searching for the rest of the crew. Agent Castillo has a team searching for the drugs, but that may take a while. This ship is loaded with containers."

Peter exchanged a glance with Ruiz. Gamitz looked sullen.

They were walking around some metal drums and nettings, moving toward the ship's gangplank when Agent Zahn stepped out behind the drums, wearing a FBI windbreaker and non-regulation jeans. "What's with Gamitz?" she asked Ruiz.

Suddenly a dark shape flew out from behind the metal containers and hit Peter full speed squarely in the back, driving him to the rough planking. As Peter fought to get up, an arm went around his throat from behind and a gun pointed at his temple. "You're not going anywhere, Agent Burke." The voice was familiar and irritating: Agent Watters. Burke could get no leverage with Watters' not inconsiderable weight on top of him. Watters banged Peter's hand against the wood a couple of times and then hit his elbow a savage whack. Peter couldn't hold on to his gun any longer and Watters scooped it up.

Moving toward Burke, Ruiz was confronted by Agent Zahn holding a gun on him "Sorry, Phil," she said, taking radios from him and Peter. She immediately threw them off the pier, into the dark water below. Glancing at Gamitz, Zahn said in a brisk tone, "Come on, Sammy. Call the soldiers and let's go."

Sammy Gamitz strolled forward, taking Ruiz's gun from him. "This time I ain't takin' no orders from you," He waved to the end of the pier, where at least three shadows started moving. They must have been waiting just under the pier for the word, as all three wore wetsuits.

Agent Watters had pinned Peter to the ground. He now got up cautiously with Peter's gun in his hand. Burke rose to his knees with a groan but, with a lightning fast move, pulled his gun back with a rough jerk, taking it from Watters. Getting to his feet quickly, Peter rammed his shoulder squarely in the Watters' chest, driving him backward.

"Come on, Ruiz!" Peter yelled, shoving Zahn aside and grabbing for her gun. She clawed at him with long designer nails, raking one side of his face. Peter however, wrestled the gun away from her and gave her a shove that landed her right on her behind.

Ruiz had just attacked Gamitz when a shot struck the barrels close by. Ruiz took the opportunity to deck Gamitz with a right that had the CI unconscious before he even hit the planks.

Peter saw Watters pull his own gun, taking aim at Ruiz's unprotected back. Burke had no time to do anything else but dive into Watters. The dock was slick with mist and oil and despite the rough surface, both Peter and Watters tumbled off the side over into the water.

The fall was long and the landing awkward. Peter hit the dark, cold water with a loud splash, Watters nearly landing on top of him. Peter swallowed a mouthful of oily water before he could resurface. The water was deep and bone chilling and his scratched cheek was stinging from the salt. Peter kept hold of his gun though, waiting for Watters to reappear. His bullet proof vest was heavy and weighing him down. Finally Watters surfaced, spitting out water and cursing. He saw Peter nearby and a panicked look came over his face when he realized he had dropped his own gun.

"That gun won't shoot; it's wet," Watters gasped out, fighting his own battle with his bullet proof vest.

"It might but even if it doesn't, it will serve to clock you on the side of the head," Peter snapped back. Looking above him, he heard shouting and gunfire. Thankfully, some portable lights were being carried forward and the dock was brighter than it had been before. He could hear the shouts of 'FBI, guns down.' After some more gunfire, things quieted. Then a silhouette of Phil Ruiz leaned over the side. "Burke! Pete, you down there?"

Timing his yell between the small waves, Peter replied, "Yeah! Watters too."

"I don't care about him," Ruiz shouted back.

Peter grinned and started swimming, a heavy, laborious job with the Kevlar vest and all the clothes.

Watters stared in open panic. "Where are you going?"

"I'm swimming for land, you idiot. You can stay out here if you like," Peter snapped. Naturally he would not leave the corrupt agent behind but it suited him to have Watters think he would.

Watters was not as strong a swimmer as Peter but he did start back after one last look at the ship and his failed dreams. There was no choice; swim to custody or drown. By the sound of it, the FBI had the situation well under control up on the pier.

By the time Peter made it back to land, he was exhausted and gasping for breath. It was a good thing he wasn't any further away from the shore. Several hands were held out to help him up and he chose a couple as the rickety ladder was steep, wet and somewhat slick as well.

That was when he noticed the hands were not helping hands. They were Brentamo men, with a wide eyed Neal Caffrey held between them at gunpoint.


	7. Chapter 7

"You stay behind, Caffrey," Neal muttered earlier into the chilly darkness. "You will just get in the way if they fight. You might get hurt," he stewed, addressing his complaints to the FBI sedan he stood next to. "So I stand out here, freezing, missing everything, while Peter might be dying." The thought caused a chill down his spine. "In danger," he amended quickly. Because Peter dying would be a massive inconvenience, that's all. _Keep the perspective clear. Do not get emotionally involved._ After a few minutes wasted trying to convince himself that he was only in it for Neal Caffrey and his interests, he gave up and nearly kicked the car's tires before remembering the shine on his shoes.

After nearly twenty minutes of this, Neal had had enough. Cautiously he moved forward when shooting started down near the dock. Instinctively he moved forward to the sound; something had gone down wrong and Neal hated it when plans did not function correctly. It was sloppy. It offended him.

He hadn't moved very far though when Neal became aware of something, someone, moving parallel with him. He couldn't see them but it was a sixth sense, well trained and ingrained and Neal never ignored it. He started to move stealthily back to the car, pulling out his phone as he moved.

Just before he got there, two men stepped out from behind the car, guns drawn, facing him. Neal recognized them as Joey Brentamo's muscle men.

One of them, a small rat of a man, smiled unpleasantly. "Caffrey. Sammy Gamitz would like to extend some hospitality to you. He told Mr. Brentamo of your actions and the Boss was not pleased. Sammy isn't available right now but we told him we would be happy to look out for his interests." The other man, a hulking brute, smiled but remained silent.

Neal mustered up a sick looking smile, which he promptly turned into a full on smile of welcome. "Always happy to straighten things out with Mr. Brentamo. It's all a misunderstanding and a private disagreement between Sammy and myself.

The larger man stepped up, searched Neal for a gun and shook his head. The smaller one returned Neal's grin. "Right this way, punk." He gestured grandly. Neal shrugged.

 _WC WC WC_

Peter almost fell back into the icy water when he saw Joey Brentamo standing with a gun held to Neal Caffrey's head. Ignoring his hesitation, the Brentamo thugs who held out their hands yanked him up hard to stand in front of them.

"Agent Burke," Brentamo begin in his best Don Corleone impression, stepping back to avoid the dripping water, "you've been a real pain of late. Your little friend here," he nodded to Caffrey, "has been a pain for a lot longer. The two of you have really irritated me, you know. I don't like being irritated. Bad for the digestion." He tightened his grip on Caffrey's collar. "You cost me a lot of money tonight. Only fair that you should pay for it."

Behind him, Agent Watters staggered out of the cold water, gasping for air and splashing everywhere. No one offered to help him.

Peter's mouth tightened as one of Brentamo's thugs relieved him of his weapon. _Great. Just great._ Ignoring Brentamo, he addressed his CI. "Neal," he said pleasantly, "what are you doing here?"

Neal gave him a bright smile. "Rescuing you, actually."

"That's nice," Peter said, still maintaining the good comradeship. "Were you planning on starting soon?" he inquired with great civility.

"The sooner, the better, I should think," Neal replied in a heartfelt voice.

"Hey! When I threaten to take care of some business here, I ain't usually ignored!" Brentamo said indignantly. Nodding to his henchmen, Neal was struck a hard blow in the stomach and Peter took one to his face from the larger man.

"That got my attention," Neal gasped, struggling to stand upright.

Carefully moving his jaw to see if it still worked, Peter said carefully, "What is it you plan on doing with us?"

"Finally, somebody's thinking," Brentamo declared with relief. "Agent Burke, you are going to get me through the FBI lines and I'm getting out of here. You will come too – part of the way. Caffrey here though, I don't need." He gave one of his henchmen a look and the man drew his gun, pointing it at Neal. "Not here," Brentamo said hastily, "Just as soon as we're clear."

"What about me?" Watters asked in some alarm. The henchman grasped Peter and Neal but nobody acknowledged the rogue FBI agent. Except Peter, who gave him a wolfish grin.

"Oh, you can come along," Joey said with a nasty smile. He straightened his coat and rearranged his gold necklace.

"Um, that's okay, I'll make my own way out-" An uneasy Watters was immediately snagged by the Brentamo man who held a gun on Neal. The rogue agent was shoved into line.

Prodded along by a sharp push in the back by the henchman, Peter fell in behind Neal, who also started down the darkened quay, away from the FBI presence on the dock. Peter was beginning to worry; the FBI teams were strung out over a large area. Normally he would say Brentamo would have no chance to get away but the way things had gone on this case, nothing was impossible. He knew that neither Neal nor himself had a prayer of living if the mobster and his men got free of the FBI dragnet. Scanning the area through the dimly lit darkness, Peter saw a tall warehouse building setting back a way, a perfect place for a -

Then the agent noticed a telltale red dot on Brentamo's shoulder.

Neal was given a shove ahead to stand next to Brentamo and the red dot was now on his neck.

 _This is not gonna happen!_ Launching himself, Peter drove Neal to the ground and covered him as the muffled shots of sharpshooters pinged around them. The Brentamo muscle men returned fire but one went down immediately. Watters started crawling, then, running away. Brentamo was down, clutching his shoulder but raised his gun to cover Peter and Neal. "Stop shooting or a I kill these two!" He yelled.

Peter moved his body over to completely cover Neal, who had no vest on. Brentamo snarled, raised the gun and it was blasted out of his hand by a FBI sharpshooter. Screaming in pain, he doubled over. Peter scrambled off Neal and scooped up the gun. The last henchman was lying on the damp cement, moaning and the agent kicked his gun away.

To his immediate relief, Peter saw Neal sit up, futilely trying to dust off his suit. "Hey, thanks!" he said sarcastically, surveying the ruin of the DeVore.

"Blood would mess it up more," Peter soberly replied.

Taking a quick look around at the carnage, Neal blanched. "Oh."

The FBI quickly swarmed around them, making sure the Brentamo men were secured and calling for ambulances. Diana Berrigan and Clinton Jones joined them, helping their boss and CI to their feet. Two other agents brought back a disheveled, defeated looking Watters.

"Saw your swim. Michael Phelps couldn't have done any better, Peter," Jones said with a jaunty air.

Peter recognized the adrenaline high of a takedown radiating from Jones. "Please tell me we got them all," he asked wearily.

"Port Authority picked up the rest of the Brentamo guys right where you said they would be; watching the action from Pier 4," Jones replied. "Guess they didn't completely trust Sammy's info."

"Where the hell did you go?" Diana hissed angrily to Neal.

"I wondered what was happening, but before I went too far, I thought something was wrong. I can tell when somebody is watching me." Neal pointed out. "I was going to tell somebody but there was nobody back at the car to tell. Because I was left behind where I was safe. Alone." he added with pointed emphasis.

Diana snapped, "You should have stayed at the office!" She looked angry and impatient. Plus a trifled worried although she did her best to hide it.

"Well, thank you for your concern about me!" Neal shot back.

Peter shivered, water cascading off him like Niagara Falls. He fumbled with the vest, his fingers clumsy with cold. "You need some help, Peter?" Jones asked, still smiling.

"I just want this damn thing off me," Peter said. He was glad Jones was energized but he felt so very tired. Jones stepped forward to help with the fastenings.

Neal finally had time to look closely at him. "Did you get into a fight with a woman? Agent Zahn perhaps?"

"Yeah. Didn't last long though," Peter added quickly. He didn't want any teasing from Neal about shoving women around tonight.

Instead, Neal's expression remained serious and concerned. "You are all right?"

Peter gave him a lopsided smile. "I am now." He couldn't resist adding, "Thanks for the rescue."

Neal sighed dramatically. "Sarcasm. Low wit."

Diana came over with a blanket she'd snagged from one of the responders at the pier. "Here you go, boss," she said. She placed the blanket around Peter's shoulders and Neal caught the other side and placed it in Peter's hand.

"Um, may I ask what you're all doing here?" Peter asked.

"Hughes is here too," Neal said defensively.

"What?" Peter was dumbfounded.

Jones nodded. "He is, right over there. He made Agent Stevenson accompany us. Interrupted the old boy's chess night, I think. When Neal's little friend saw Gamitz out running around, we went on red alert."

Glancing around, Burke noticed Agent Watters, who could hardly walk, his legs rubbery and chest heaving, being led away. He had run right into the waiting arms of the FBI. Pausing, he gave Peter a glare of pure hatred. Peter glared back, distaste all over his face.

Phil Ruiz came running down the pier at a sprint. "Pete! You all right?"

Peter shrugged deeper into the blanket. "Yeah, I'll live. What about you?"

"Same. I don't think I'm going to enjoy the review boards after this though." Ruiz added uneasily, looking around at the disaster that could cost him his career.

"What happened up there?" Peter asked, shivering.

"Sharpshooter got Zahn; she'll be all right though. Good enough to stand trial. Barnes actually did well; he took down a Brentamo enforcer. Collins and Castillo are checking out that tugboat over there; do you think that's really where the drugs are?"

Peter nodded. "I do." He considered. "I always thought Sammy's tip was a red herring."

"Well, I hope you're right. It's the only thing that might save my butt. Unless you want Organized Crime now, Pete?"

"You can run your own damn department, Ruiz!" Peter retorted hotly.

"Agent Burke, are you trying for pneumonia? Get over here!" Reese Hughes shouted.

The group moved back up to the road that led to the pier en masse. Giving Peter a quick once over, Hughes said, "You'd probably better go to the hospital and get checked out."

"Hospital?" Peter sputtered. "Hughes, I'm all right. I only fell off the dock!"

"Looks like more than that," Hughes said, inspecting at the scratches on Peter's face. "Humor the FBI, Agent Burke. You know the regs." He looked around. "Jones, give him a ride. Take Caffrey with you." He glared, seeing Neal holding a hand to his stomach. "Looks like he got into some mischief too." Hughes overrode Neal's protests in short order. "Get out of here, both of you."

With a final martyred look, Peter trudged off, teeth chattering and shivering. Neal, walking with him, handed him his cell phone. "Better call Elizabeth."

"Thank you for remembering **my** wife," Peter grumbled.

Neal smiled widely. "Anytime."

 _ **One last chapter to go.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_I just want to thank everybody for staying with this long story; I hope you enjoyed it. The reviews (including the guests), the favorites and reviews on my other stories are all appreciated. Thanks for reading._**

"Honey, where are you?" Elizabeth Burke shouted as she came through the front door, arms loaded with sacks.

A muffled voice called out, "In here," somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

Elizabeth set the sacks down on the dining room table and entered the kitchen. She saw her husband's long legs sticking out from beneath the kitchen sink.

Kneeling down, she asked, "Are you fixing the leak?"

There was a thud and a curse. "Trying to."

Elizabeth smiled fondly. Peter would get it done, no doubt of that. She became aware of a delicious aroma. "Babe, is that pot roast I smell?"

With a final grunt, her husband came out from beneath the sink. "Yes. How perceptive you are, dear," he teased with a smile.

She swatted him on the arm. "Very funny." Looking around, she asked, "Where's Satchmo?"

Peter was wiping his hands on a rag. "Outside. He wanted to join me down there and there wasn't room for both of us."

Elizabeth got up and opened the back door and Satch came charging in happily. Closing the door, she realized that annoying catch on the near the top was gone. "Did you fix the door too?"

Peter stood up and came over to her, inspecting his work critically. "Yeah. Hopefully the wood won't warp again that much; I hate it when that thing sticks to the frame."

Elizabeth rubbed his arm. "You didn't have to do the entire honey do list in one day, you know."

Peter took her in his arms, his expression serious. "Look, El, I know I've put you through a lot these past few weeks. I know I was a pain. I'd like to make it up to you."

Elizabeth put her arms around his waist. "Oh, you will, Agent Burke. You will. But I think you got these days off to rest up a bit, not run around being Mr. Fixit."

Peter looked quizzically. "You're complaining?" he said, nuzzling her hair.

Elizabeth smiled. "Not really,' she said as she reached to kiss him.

 _WC WC WC_

Neal Caffrey sat down at his desk with a small groan. The punch the Brentamo man had hit him with was nothing more than a deep bruise but it was still sore. So, he sat in the van all morning; sat at the desk all afternoon. Really, was this what law enforcement was all about? Where was the thrill of the chase?

He thought about putting his feet up on the desk but a quick glance confirmed Hughes was in residence and the old guy didn't care for people who slouched at their desks or 'looked like they were at a lawn party.' So Neal straightened up and pretended to look busy.

Jones would be back soon and Neal knew when he returned it would be studying the case folders. Diana had an appointment this afternoon and a meeting before that, so she wasn't expected back. This was fine with Neal. Diana was pushing hard to get everything done that they could finish so when Peter returned Monday he wouldn't be inundated with cases. Neal was okay with that but, with some cases, like the one concerning today's surveillance, there just wasn't really anything they could do until they could get some hard evidence.

Clinton Jones was a calm man and Neal admired the way he pitched in even though he was sure Jones was privately disappointed that he hadn't been picked to run the team in Peter's absence. Jones never said a word. The one time Neal had asked he simply replied it was good experience for Diana and he figured the next time, may that be sometime in the long distant future, he would get his chance but it would not be a practice run like Diana's had been. Maybe when Peter got his long overdue promotion.

Jones strolled in while Neal sat in contemplation. "Caffrey," Jones nodded a greeting.

Neal smiled. "Good lunch?"

Jones grinned. "Just fine." He offered no details and moved on, leaving Neal to speculate. Neal grinned; he knew the warm feeling of keeping secrets.

Clinton Jones wasn't the taskmaster Diana could be and he sat down at his own desk, making some phone calls. The way he kept glancing around made Neal think these weren't FBI numbers he was dialing. There was certainly a Friday mood around the office.

Neal decided to make a call of his own. He started to dial Peter but then changed his mind and chose Elizabeth's phone instead.

"Hello, Neal."

"Hi Elizabeth," Neal said brightly. "Isn't caller ID a wonderful thing?"

Elizabeth laughed, that bright and bubbly laugh Neal hadn't heard too often lately. "Neal, are you working? Did you want to talk to Peter? He's at home."

"Just wanted to see how you guys were doing. I talked to Peter briefly yesterday but he sounded like he was in home improvement mode so I moved on."

"Well, today, thankfully, he crashed. I had an early appointment; he got up with me and took Satchmo for a walk. Later, I had to go back to the house to get something and I found them both upstairs asleep."

Neal grinned. "Well, if he wakes up before evening, tell him to relax. We, the working people, will stand watch against crime." Even as he spoke the words, Neal reflected briefly on the irony of that sentiment.

Laughing, Elizabeth replied, "I'll be sure and tell him. Oh Neal, I know you're not into sports but the Giants first game is on Sunday. I'm planning on a barbeque; why don't you join us?"

Neal was a bit uneasy. "Well, you know I'm not much on sports-"

"It's just going to be Peter and me. I was going to invite some others but right now, I'm enjoying having my husband back. I don't want to share him with that many yet. Besides, I know you boys have missed each other."

"Yeah, nobody's yelled at me for a couple of days," Neal retorted but the humor in his voice belied the words.

"Funny, Peter mentioned just yesterday that he hadn't been aggravated for at least twenty four hours."

Neal heard voices in the background and then Elizabeth came back. "Look, Neal, I've got to run. Kickoff's around three, it's the late game. See you then, okay?"

Neal smiled. "Okay." As if anyone could tell Elizabeth Burke no.

 _WC WC WC_

"Well, Neal, you're actually here to watch football," Peter Burke stood at his front door, exaggerated amazement on his face.

"I'm here for the free food," Neal replied brightly, smiling when Peter laughed. He held open the door and Neal came inside.

"What do you have here?" Peter said, eyeing the bag Neal carried.

"I brought you some imported beer, some really good German stuff," Neal broke off, seeing the skeptical look on Peter's face. "Trust me on this, all right? You'll love it."

"Oh really?" Peter remarked dubiously.

"Yes," Neal insisted. "I've also brought popcorn, some of the finest ever grown in this country. Very few hulls. Every kernel pops perfectly."

"You sound like an ad campaign," Peter retorted.

"Mozzie recommends it. It's organic," Neal said defensively. "I've had some, too."

Elizabeth came out of the kitchen, carrying a couple of bowls of chips and dip. Satchmo was on her heels, wearing a blue Giants scarf around his neck.

Neal smiled. "I had no idea Satch was such a big Giants fan."

"If he knows what's good for him, he is," Peter said darkly. His expression changed instantly when El turned around, ready to scold. "Just kidding, dear." he added sweetly.

"You'd better be, dear," Elizabeth said archly. "Come help me with the drinks. Neal, what do you want?"

"Neal brought fancy German beer," Peter informed her. "Get out the finest glasses."

Elizabeth swatted him. "Not during a game. You broke one of my glasses during the Yankees – Red Sox last month." She touched Neal's arm. "Sit down and relax. Peter and I will get the drinks."

Neal made sure to give Peter the bag and then sat down in the chair with the confident air of a man reaching home port. Peter scowled in automatic reaction, but followed his wife into the kitchen.

Neal could hear them in there, talking and laughing as Satchmo came up to greet him. It was all so normal again. Peter still looked tired but not that fine edged exhaustion he'd worn for the last few weeks. He seemed more like the Peter Burke Neal knew.

Peter and Elizabeth came back with drinks and snacks. They settled on the couch. Despite himself, Neal got interested in the game and caught up in Elizabeth's enthusiasm. Elizabeth was a very vocal Giants fan, praising or criticizing every play. Peter sat back and watched, involved but not nearly so loud. He drank the beer Neal brought, grudgingly admitting it was pretty good but not great, as he made certain to add, just in case Neal got any ideas. Peter seemed very relaxed, if not a little heavy eyed. Elizabeth however, more than made up for any mellowness on her husband's part.

It was near the end of the first half when the referees called back an apparent Giants touchdown that Neal really saw another side of his friend's wife. Peter got up and hastily muttered something about starting the grill and escaped. Elizabeth went on a tirade, berating the officials, the opposing team and the rules of the game. Neal stared fascinated. Satchmo hurriedly joined his father out on the patio, barking at the door to be let out.

"I can't believe this! What game are they looking at? Or can they see anything at all? Sometimes I wonder just where they find these guys to referee games? I think the FBI should look into it!" she yelled loudly.

Neal stifled a smile. "You know, I think I'll just go out and help Peter a bit."

He made his way out the back door before Elizabeth came up for air.

Peter stood at the grill, smirking. Satchmo, too, appeared to be smirking; at least it looked that way to Neal. "Why are you out here, Neal?" Peter asked innocently.

"The better part of valor and all of that," Neal replied. He nodded back at the house. "Are you sure that's Elizabeth and not a pod person?"

Peter laughed. "Only happens during games with the Cowboys, Eagles and the Redskins. The rest of the time she's all right."

Neal nodded dubiously. "Good to know."

The back door banged open and Elizabeth joined them. "Okay, I get it. I'm supposed to be quiet when the ignorant referee cheats my team out of a touchdown. Now, are you coming back in?" She smiled sweetly. "It is halftime and therefore safe."

Both Peter and Neal sighed in relief. Satchmo let out one sharp bark.

"Men!" Elizabeth said in exasperation.

 _WC WC WC_

Neal Caffrey arrived early bearing the tray of espresso cups. He was sure he had left in plenty of time but he had run into Ashley Leewood in the coffee shop and he couldn't bring himself to walk out on her. She was braced for the return of Agent Ruiz to head Organized Crime again but Neal reassured her it would probably be a more subdued Ruiz than before. The abrasive agent was facing a couple of review boards and would be lucky to keep his job. Privately, Neal felt it couldn't happen to a more deserving guy but Peter seemed to think Ruiz might just learn something for a change.

Entering the bull pen of the White Collar division, Diana Berrigan sat at her desk, impatiently waiting. "Took you long enough," she scolded Neal.

"I ran into a friend," Neal explained with a charming smile.

"Peter's already here," Diana hissed.

Neal's smile faded. "What?"

Clinton Jones stood up near the conference room. "He's in a meeting with Hughes, Ruiz and Bancroft. He hasn't been to his desk yet."

Neal gave Diana a look. "Gee, thanks for the false alarm."

"You needed it," Diana replied, unruffled.

The two went upstairs to the conference room. Boxes of pastries and Neal's espresso were placed on the table. "Hope they don't take too long. I won't be held responsible for cold espresso," Neal said solemnly.

"Hey, what timing," Jones said, watching Peter and Hughes get off the elevator. They said something to Bancroft, who stayed inside the car and turned to enter the bullpen. Hughes place a hand on Peter's shoulder and said something to him. Climbing up the short staircase, Peter finally noticed his team in the conference room, waiting and smiling.

Entering and noticing the food and drinks, Peter smiled widely. "Is this a party?"

"A welcome back party, boss," Diana said warmly.

Peter took a cup of espresso and sipped it. "Still warm."

Neal smiled. "I do my best."

They all dug into the food and drinks, even Hughes, who later excused himself to work in his office. It was a good relaxed time; everyone talked at once and the clerks also came in to have some food, armed with their own coffee cups.

Although it was pleasant to just sit and talk, Peter felt keenly the presence of Hughes just down the hall and finally, taking his drink, went into his own office.

His desk was absolutely clean, no case files, no paperwork. Peter stopped; his face incredulous. "Wait a minute, there is no way you are all caught up here!"

Diana slipped in beside him, Neal and Jones following. "Well, we do have some outstanding cases, but nothing urgent, just old stuff. I forged your signature on all the reports that were due this week, so you can take it easy."

"Just don't let Hughes see you," Neal advised him hastily.

Peter was a bit flabbergasted. "You really did a great job, all of you. Good work, people. After almost three months of nobody working together, this makes a great change. Thank you."

Jones asked the question uppermost on everyone's mind. "They say anything more about you staying in Organized Crime, Peter?"

"It's Ruiz's again, for now. He's going to be on probation for a while; having two agents go rogue doesn't help the resume. Agent Stevenson has decided to retire. He has a son in Florida; sounds like he going down south."

"What's going to happen to Zahn and Watters?" Neal asked.

"Zahn's headed for trial. No parole, she's too much of a flight risk. Watters was more of an opportunist; he stumbled onto Zahn's little deal with the Brentamo family via Sammy Gamitz and tried to deal himself in. The Brentamos were going to take him out once his usefulness was over anyway. According to Sammy, that is, who is spilling everything he knows to everyone he sees. Watters is spending some time in jail too and will definitely be headed for a grand jury. I am sure his troubles are just beginning. Oh, Barnes is being transferred to Omaha; might not be as stressful for him there, watching the Missouri River traffic go by."

"Organized Crime in Omaha?" Jones asked, confused.

Peter grimaced. "Gangs."

"Oh," Jones replied. "Lucky guy."

"Who did you suspect?" Neal asked intently.

"Oh, I knew what they were up to," Peter replied flippantly.

"Sure, you did," Neal agreed, his voice dubious. "But when?"

Peter sighed as he sat down behind his desk. Neal, naturally, would not let it go. "I knew Watters was up to something, but for a long time, I thought Barnes was either his accomplice or the mastermind. When Barnes freaked out that night he went with me to meet Sammy, I knew he didn't have the intelligence or the guts to see this kind of operation through. I checked Collins and Castillo out thoroughly; they were clean. The fact they stayed away from Barnes and Watters made that easy. Zahn was the tough one." He turned to Neal. "Remember when I told you about all those calls to her boyfriend? I did some checking; turned out more than three- fourths of the calls were to a burner phone. Sammy carelessly left his jacket lying around one afternoon and I got his phone and compared numbers. Same number Zahn had been calling."

"You stole his phone?" Neal's expression could not have been more pleased.

Peter arched an eyebrow. "Borrowed it. Just for a while."

"But you let Zahn in on the take down, Boss," Diana pointed out. "Wasn't that risky?"

"I didn't have any proof," Peter admitted. "But that was why I had Collins and Castillo so far away from the action, so they could respond to any other move the Brentamos might make. I warned Ruiz one of his agents was dirty, but other than that, I couldn't really do much more. I needed to catch her in the act."

"That cost you a dive off the pier," Neal reminded him.

"That was not part of the plan," Peter admitted sourly. "Almost turned out unlucky." He still felt cold at the memory of the dark water.

Neal grinned. "At least your face is healing."

Hughes stuck his head in. "I hate to break up this class reunion, but it looks like we have a new case. Mortgage fraud. Here are the files, Peter. If you can find some time alone, you might want to look at them."

Hughes stalked off and everyone exchanged a chagrined look. Neal made a point of looking at his watch. "Remember, everybody, we need to be at the restaurant by 11:45. Don't be late or we won't get seated right away."

Peter watched in confusion as Diana and Jones both nodded as they left his office. "What are you talking about?"

"That new Italian place on 6th; I have reservations," Neal said proudly.

Peter drew a hand over his eyes. "Neal, that place is pricey and always full."

Neal looked affronted. "Look, I plan a great welcome back lunch for you and all I get are complaints. The owner is a very nice man and I explained to him that you'd just come back from busting an international drug ring."

Peter couldn't bear to hear it. "Neal, please tell me you didn't-"

"Did you or did you not bust Joey Brentamo's drug operation?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"No buts," Neal said proudly. "And no lies. The owner is a law and order type guy; he promised me he'll get us seated and in and out in about an hour or so."

Peter finally looked up. "I cannot imagine you taking 'an hour or so' on a fine Italian dinner."

Neal smiled. "Finer things in life cannot be hurried, Peter. Besides, the wine list alone is excellent."

"Neal, we're at lunch. Not a state dinner. No wine."

Neal looked disgusted. "Oh, all right. Not Italian without wine though."

Peter drew out of his suit jacket his picture of Elizabeth and placed it back on his desk. He also fished out the rubber band stress ball that Neal had given him and held it up. "You know, I was going to give this back to you. But I think I'll keep it for now. If I go outside on the balcony, I know a good throw will hit you on the head from here."

"The things I do for those who do not appreciate me," Neal huffed as he turned to leave.

"Neal," Peter's voice stopped him. "I know asking you questions is a fool's errand but I'm going to try it anyway. Why, exactly, did you get involved in this case?"

Neal could tell by the agent's face that a glib answer and a smile would probably cause friction on a day that should be savored. He sighed. "I never liked the Brentamo family. They don't plan, they don't research, they smash, grab and kill. Sadistic morons like Freddie DiStephano work for them."

Peter leaned back, his expression serious. "That museum guard you mentioned?" Even during the heat of the moment he recalled how surprised he was that Neal had let slip some information of his past.

Managing a small smile, Neal corrected, "Allegedly. Yes, him." Speaking softly, he added, "He was an old guy just making extra money. He didn't deserve what he got. He was no threat."

Peter remained silent. Now didn't seem the time to go digging for more information, his usual modus operandi with Neal. He sighed.

"It was not however, any sort of misplaced loyalty or concern for your well-being," Neal said loftily, obviously determined to move on.

"Well, thank you for ruining the moment," Peter complained.

Neal pointed at his watch. "Lunch, soon. Budget your time accordingly."

"I can see I am going to have to reassert authority around here," Peter muttered.

Pausing on his way out, Neal threw a bright smile over his shoulder at Peter. "Welcome back."

Peter watched as Neal stalked out, walking through the office like he had Hughes' job. He shook his head ruefully.

The phone started ringing. "Let the usual headaches begin," he said as Diana headed up the stairs with an armful of folders and Hughes appeared outside his door. Somehow though, the routine didn't seem that bad today.


End file.
